a n t h o l o g y

Reclaiming My Wings
Sarah Mason

My name is Sarah Mason and I’m here today because I suffered from Bulimia Nervosa for more
than half my life. It took me over 18 years to get to the point where I could stand up here and
share my story. But in order to talk to you about who I am today, I need to speak to you about who
I was. So here’s a page out of my old life.

One Monday morning

Home for the day. Sick with the flu, cold, broken appendage, whatever. Get up. Feel hungry. Look in
refrigerator. Nothing. Hunger increases. Get dressed. Go to the supermarket. Buy box of brownie
mix, bag of Cape Cod potato chips and jar of honey roasted peanuts, strawberries, and grapes. Get
home. Pull out mixing bowls. Phone rings - mix the brownie batter. Eat everything I bought except
the fruit. Wait a few minutes. Get up. Go to the kitchen. Methodically clean mixing bowl. Sprint
upstairs. Get a ponytail holder for hair. Strip down to underwear while running back downstairs
leaving clothing strewn across the room. Go to bathroom. Throw up several times. Completely
sanitize bathroom. Take shower. Walk downstairs. Go back to kitchen. Take out strawberries and
grapes from refrigerator and glass of seltzer water. Sit down in living room. Sink into chair for a
few hours until the craving succumbs me once again. Repeat process.

This ritual shrouded my life for over 18 years. I would get this feeling and nothing could make it
stop. All I could think about was getting in the car and getting the brownie mix, or whatever my
food drug of choice was at the time.

Thus, going to the supermarket—a simple routine for most people—to me was like a drug addict
walking into a crack house. When I finally got my fix, I was relieved. Saved. But that feeling didn’t
last long—maybe a few minutes before I started getting the itch. The clock was always ticking in
my head; how long before I am able to get rid of this horrible feeling of guilt for all I’ve eaten. And
then suddenly that became the focal point of all my energies. But it wasn’t a nervous focus. My
response was systematic.

My eating disorder started when I was 15, but it really began somewhere else.

When I was a child I was able to leap tall buildings with a single bound. I had no fear, no inhibitions.
Soon after my 13th birthday my father left. It devastated me. The bubble I lived in for so long had
finally burst and all those things I’d never seen before were suddenly visible.

There were so many things going on for me. Middle school was a nightmare. Everything was
changing so rapidly. I had emotions I’d never known. Body parts I’d never seen. I just wanted
someone to help me figure it all out. But my father wasn’t around, my older sister and brother—
whom I adored and depended on for emotional support—were away at school. I was left alone
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with the responsibility of taking care of my handicapped mother who had been stricken with polio
at age three and, as a result, walks with the aid of crutches and braces.

I felt very much alone and unable to express myself. It was easier to be a victim than deal with the
guilt of surpassing my mother physically. After awhile I started to doubt my capabilities; I became
afraid of everything. Symbolically, I disabled myself.

Everyone in my family was so incredibly uncomfortable by anything that represented the idea of
overindulgence. So instead of hearing, “You can be anything you want to be”, I heard, “That’s not
realistic. Don’t bite off more than you can chew. You need to know your limitations”. As a result, I
developed a restricted view of my own potential.

My eating disorder was a release from all of this. It was an easy way to feed myself— physically,
emotionally, spiritually and without feeling guilty. What my unsophisticated mind failed to realize
was that, ultimately, there was no escape from the guilt. So I fell into a seemingly endless cycle of
binging and purging. Binging would save me from all the restrictions I imposed on myself.

It’s taken me a lifetime to regain the spirit I had as a child.  And it wasn’t a revelation.  I didn’t
wake up one morning and say, “That’s it, I’m done with this bulimia thing.” It took years for me to
recover. And like alcoholics consider themselves to always be alcoholics, sober or not, I consider
myself to be bulimic, purging or not.

I promised myself if I ever beat this disease I would use my experiences to help others avoid
suffering as I did. The programs on Payson are small steps toward bringing an end to a problem
that has gone unnoticed, un-funded, and unsupported for too long. I believe it’s time for everyone
to step up to this plate and make a change. For it pains my heart to think of another young man
or woman, so rich with promise and talent spending their life with their head over a toilet bowl
when they really deserve to do is fly.