I was 18 years old in 1980 when my bulimia began. I might have stated it in an earlier blog, but how it came to be was that I was told by my mother, after my sister had lost several pounds through Weight Watchers, that she and I were the only ones left that were fat in the family. I had been fit until I was 16 when we moved away from a place I had finally rooted myself. The move was devastating. The new school had no sports, was dull and the lockers were all painted with camouflage to hide the graffiti. My passtime became watching soap operas while eating a bag of crackers smothered with butter and peanut butter. Then upon attaining a job at MacDonald’s I added Big Macs and fries to my nutritional diet. Within two months I had gain 35 lbs. I befriended a girl in school, who, word had it, had been quite large, but she was absolutely beautiful and thin and I met her. One day she told me her secret about having her ice cream and eating it too, but not gaining any weight. You can guess how this one went. So I attempted this a few times without success until I remembered my CPR course. Heimlich maneuver. Once that was perfected, I started to lose weight and within four months I had reached my original weight of 130 lbs. Alas, it did not stop there. A couple of years later I was moved yet again. A year later my younger sister was sent off to live with my older sister, so I was an only child for the first time in my life. Expectations ran high in my family. I was at university, and met great friends who kept me very busy, along with my writing my children’s book and my studies. Suddenly I found myself not purging, but eating well, and back into sports, and suddenly I was 110 lbs. My parents were frustrated and frightened. They had found out about my bulimia, which at this time had commenced two years before. I was now 20. They threatened to throw me out if I didn’t gain weight. There was a strange side of me that I remember well that made me happy that they were angry. I was always trying to be the “good girl” and really was not noticed much. There were four girls in our family and I was number three. I never really felt as though I belonged. (I still don’t). But in this case I was getting attention. Negative attention, but attention nevertheless. And I kept thinking for all the times they made me angry, made me feel ashamed or not good enough (like when my mother said I was a failure graduating from university without a profession), I was doing it back to them. Making them wonder why their child was doing this? Maybe, just maybe, they thought what it was that they did to drive me to this behaviour? I ignored their comments and as per my usual, I simply went into my room and hid. Anyone out there have a similar experience? And how did you deal with it?