I become. Physically, it shows. Recovery, remember? Of course. I have gained some weight, which I know in some logical Larry that lingers shallow inside my deepened fucked up brain, is a good thing. The “right” thing. I don’t know. I do know. But I want to not care so bad. I want to just go ahead and starve, but I don’t allow myself anymore. I want to purge after a more proportioned meal, but I don’t allow myself anymore. Is this how strong I’ve become? To emotionally feel like a hummingbird who can’t fly backwards anymore, but still has the willpower to flap its wings.
The binger inside me never fails to ring and ring that doorbell when I’m eating a meal, and most of the time, I open the door, made of Ethiopian hardwood. I eat with my emotionally inflated eyes. Then after I’ve completed ingesting my hopes and dreams, the bulimic deep down inside starts knocking on that door made of Ethiopian hardwood, but I never open. I realized as I finished typing that last sentence that I am still standing and yes I am playing Elton John in the background.
I’m hearing plenty of comments on my physical appearance. They sound positive, and I’m sure they are meant to be positive, but when I hear from my godfather that I look very handsome, and more “rellenito” (aka fuller) it hurts. I don’t get upset, but I feel like I’m doing something wrong. I have to remind myself that I am doing this not just for myself, but for the people around me, for the people who really love and care about me. I can’t be selfish.
I want to throw in the purple towel, but I won’t.
–By Larry Leiva
For Almost Dorothy, Larry writes his autobiography and documents his long-term struggle with Anorexia and Bulimia. Larry is not afraid to talk about life as a guy (or boy) (or boy-to-man) (man) dealing with multiple eating disorders (ED). He is not afraid of dispelling the myth that ED only affects girls and that it’s easy to beat. Because it’s freaking hard to beat.