Confession

«I am looking at a huge tureen where reddish stains of drops of borsch are drying out…I am looking around the kitchen: piles of plates and dishes, crumbs, grease stains, sticky stains of coca-cola. And only on seeing it, it sinks in: Surprised home hosts used to say in „Three bears“ fairy-tale: „Who was there and ate from my dish?“ Who was there and turned my licked-clean kitchenette upside down? Could it have been me myself?

The fact omitted by me cruelly makes me back to the reality: the last 90 minutes… At the street there were: the stall with buns, chocolate, cola, nuts, chips… At home there were: dumplings, cutlets, cheap sausages cooked with Chinese noodles in the micro oven, spice-cakes, waffles, kefir, odds and ends of some products in the fridge… And all these flied into my wolf jaws like into an old steam engine fire box! And then two fingers in the throat and all the things just devoured thrown up: Oh, what disgusting Chinese noodles — just stretching, so repulsive! And sausages grey from acid-base reaction, curds, buns and white loaves as a clod of pastry made my poor stomach, kefir accompanied by cola, waffles as sugary as when eaten, dumplings — appeared to be stinky, sausages, and where the cutlets then? And one more time, one more effort… Here they are, and a piece of a herring with burning mustard — I don't remember how it got there. Is this all at last? Clear? Or to pour some water and to wash out so that nothing faulty stuck there? Oh, let it be, everything is looming before the eyes, so it must be OK there! Or at least I will take several tens of yellow round Bisacodil and everything will be the same as always.»

90 black-out minutes and…

A slender, frail, thin-legged and intelligent girl with a fresh make-up enters the kitchen with her eyes round from extreme amazement at the results of wild Viking feast: how could aaaaall this has been grubbed? — and could it have been ME MYSELF?!!!

Looking at the tureen I recalled of parents' stories how when a little girl I tried to take a dish with borsch from our watchdog Scharik not at any price wanting to share such a junk with a dog. The thing that it was a dog's dish didn't trouble me at all and screaming «It's MY!!!» I rushed after my spoon! — Could it be to eat from a dog dish? Nobody knows as each time being half way to my goal I was caught up by a strict arm of the law — by my granny: «They don't feed the child at all, do they?» And the following persuasion «for mum» and «for daddy» just made me feel protesting against joint family meal, that it must seem more joyful to share a dish of borsch with Scharik — he won't say «And one more spoon» for sure. But this free thought remained the thought.

And now I am recalling this. What was the cause of my falling ill with bulimia and that I can't recover for many years? Wrong sets in childhood? Experiments with my weight and diets and fasts in adolescence? Or was it the way of finding myself? But which myself: that who is going to pay for a drop of fat by her life or that, who is different, unfamiliar, wise, able to appreciate life and herself? The way might seem strange, incomprehensible, wild, mad, and inexplicable… Though it is not surprising; it is my way as I am strange, incomprehensible, wild and mad in everything: in love, in loyalty, in dreams, in activity, in rush and obstinacy and I am inexplicable in my nature and in my experiments that could be called «My universities» if it had not been the slogan of a well-known classic. Each of my experiments can be called overcoming of myself, probing the limits, testing for strength, risk and rashness. At 18 one gives himself up not thinking about resources exhaustion and about the means of goal-achieving — the whole life is before you! The most important thing at 18 is to be stunning beautiful and sex-appealing and then you'll have the whole world at your feet! At 25 you realize that the world is still somewhere but definitely not at your feet, and a slender figure paid a victim price for it doesn't bring happiness but the dream still remains pure and great. And you still believe in favorable planet patience but without such an ardor as at 18 but making effort to shuffle the cards of your own life. And if you suppress desperation and lack of faith you will gradually find yourself by 30 and take your dreams under your own control and fulfillment. And you enjoy a new feeling fixed by a great number of experiments that you will have the world at your feet not because of accidental planet order and stakes on a perfect body and pretty face but because it will serve you if only you want it and are yourself!

I wish I had known that disgusting way through engorgement fits, vomiting, purgatives, fasts, diets, hate of myself and of the whole world will take me to myself being the true, not locked into the weighing scales reading of 54 kilos, not being envious of those skinny girls who eat as if not for themselves and don't get fat… I wish anybody had told me that I will find through sufferings today's myself — self-confident, appreciating life, rich in knowledge of how to keep your figure right, how to perceive the world around you and how to do something what is of more importance that just care of your weight, how to create but not only perfect your shapes, how to be happy about you being as you are — irrespective of grams of fat on the body, weighing scales needle readings and a illusory tape-line around the waist. And at last I wish anybody had told me that I will cure this weak spot, that I will write a book what it actually bulimia is and I will confess to the whole world to that not any girl with the same problem will have enough courage to confess even to herself — that I am a bulimic!