For me, the bulimia was about stuffing my emotions. So I stopped suppressing my feelings.
My bulimia was my addiction. Hurting myself was my addiction. . . The music is what saved me. That's the only thing I can trust.
Everybody knew about the bulimia in the family. And they all blamed the failure of the marriage on the bulimia and it's taken them time to think differently. I said I was rejected, I didn't think I was good enough for this family, so I took it out on myself. I could have gone to alcohol. I could have been anorexic. I chose to hurt myself instead of hurting all of you.
She had all the best things wrong with her—incest, insanity, drug addiction, bulimia, alopecia: you name it. All the perfect stuff for a memoir. She’s so lucky.
For every diet there's an equal and opposite binge (bulimia which is binging and purging is another way of depriving yourself).
A little bit of anorexia, a little bit of bulimia. I'm not totally OK now but I don't think any woman is.
I mean, we all know the dangers of starving, but bulimia? That can't be that bad. It's only bad when you get really thin. Who worries about bulimics? They're just gross.
I have something called exercise bulimia, which is where you rid of your calories by over-exercising.
