Why Laxatives?

Back it up...
October 2010.

I've never been one to discuss toilet issues, but I had them. So, I took a couple of laxatives. It was an easy fix for an uncomfortable problem. No big deal. It helped, so I took a couple more the next day. And the next several days. And well, I started  liking the idea of being able to eat and then "get rid" of the calories with laxatives (which I now know was a misconception). So, I continued taking them. In addition to believing laxatives were magic and could make me look like a super model, they also became an easy way to distract from the stress of life. Can't control your current living situation? Oh, here you go, have a laxative or 2. That will help. After a while, though, the daily dosage of 3 laxatives just wasn't cutting it anymore. My body started needing more to function, and I needed more to distract. So, just a few more, I thought. This continued for several months. Eat what you want, then purge with laxatives. You will lose weight, and life will be wonderful. 

I didn't lose weight at first. It wasn't until I added restricting that I lost weight. And well, I just couldn't keep that up consistently so weight fluctuation was ever present. For a bulimic, looking at the scale and seeing weight gain is reason for more destructive behavior. In my case, the destructive behavior was actually causing the weight fluctuation so it was a vicious cycle. It went like this: "diet" or restrict for a day or two. Give in. Lose control. Eat too much. Feel guilty, disgusting, like a failure, etc. Purge with laxatives. Start over. While I didn't lose the weight I wanted to lose, I did lose energy, hair, a normal period, and most importantly giving my undivided attention to my family who needed me. My eating disorder consumed me. I could not be alone or with people without constantly critiquing myself.  Three laxatives went to 5 then 6, then before I knew it I was taking 10-12 a day. This went on for a solid year before it was addressed.

We were living with my parents at the time, which I firmly believe was providence. My mom had noticed laxative packages from time to time. She asked me about them.

"Are you okay? Having stomach trouble?" 

"Yes," I said. :"I can't really have a bowel movement without taking laxatives." It was true. My bowels were lazy. They had gotten so used to having the work done for them that if I stopped taking laxatives for even a day, I was miserable.

"Oh, that's concerning. Maybe you should go see a doctor. You don't want to mess around with that. It doesn't sound good."

"Yeah, I know. It's kind of crazy. I'll make an appointment." 

My mom was seriously concerned for my health. It never occurred to her that I had an eating disorder. Really, it never occurred to me either until she asked questions. It wasn't until I felt the guilt and shame involved with answering questions about my behavior that I realized something was seriously wrong. I didn't want to tell her how many I was taking and she didn't ask. I went home and googled laxative use and long-term effects. I was startled. I made the appointment that day and I remember feeling relieved that it was going to be coming to an end. Little did I know it was just the beginning.