"i did not want to worry about anyone watching my eating, monitoring how long i stayed in the bathroom, or looking to see if my face had puffed out at the cheeks or if there were broken blood vessels under my watery eyes. i did not want to stop throwing up. i needed my bulimia in order to survive, and no one and nothing could convince me to give up what had become my sole coping skill. i knew all about the physiological, medical and emotional consequences that might occur if i continued to throw up, but i could not stop, and no one was going to make me. it didn't matter to me that death was on the top of the list of possible consequences.
i had slipped further underground, hiding my disease with a calculated precision."
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