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The first time Charlie does it he almost can’t believe himself.
It’s not like he didn’t know it could be a possibility, that it was a common cycle for people with his illness to fall into. He simply could never picture himself hunched over a toilet, making himself sick after a remarkably large meal.
He remembers a particular conversation he had with Megghy during his stay at the psychiatric hospital. He hadn’t been there for long, maybe two weeks max, but he had noticed the mean looks a couple other patients would give him when they thought he wasn’t looking, or during meal time. Completely lost, worried and lonely, he had decided to ask Megghy about it.
‘‘They are probably just jealous.’’ And she had made it sound like the most obvious, simplest thing in the world.
‘‘What?’’ Charlie didn’t get it.
‘‘Yeaaah, you know, after that group therapy, you said you just ‘can’t eat’,’’ she made air quotations with her fingers ‘‘I saw the looks on their faces sour, probably just jealousy, they’ll get over it.’’
‘‘I don’t… get it?’’
‘‘Amelia and Oscar have bulimia nervosa, Charlie.’’
Charlie felt even more frustrated. ‘‘I keep not getting it, why would they be jealous of me?’’
Megghy had looked at him in a way that an outsider could have mistaken for patronising, but to Charlie she almost seemed endeared. ‘‘Well… In eating disorder land you’re never… aiming for bulimia, you know? There’s definitely a hierarchy to eating disorders. Ideally, if you have an eating disorder you want to have anorexia, right? When you have bulimia, or a binge eating disorder, you basically failed at anorexia.’’ Charlie’s eyes widen and Megghy rushes to add ‘‘Of course, of course we all know it’s not true, they are all very real and valid illnesses, but the eating disorder brain doesn’t care about that, the sweet sweet ED voice doesn’t give a shit of how valid you are. You try to not eat, you couldn’t not eat, you throw up what you ate, you failed at anorexia, ended up with bulimia. That’s what it feels like… eating disorders are extremely competitive, too, when they listened to you talk about how you just, poof, stopped eating, never binged, lost a bunch of weight, jealousy must have kicked in. These are serious illnesses that cloud your brain and and make you think stuff you would have never imagined yourself even considering before, don’t take it to heart, Charlie, you didn’t do anything wrong.’’
Charlie had just looked at her in shock as she shrugged her shoulders and took his hand, they were late for dinner.
The memory of that day, every single word came back to him as he stood hunched over the toilet.
Eating had been… fine. The good days didn’t outweigh the bad ones, but he had managed at least two meals, even if scarce, in the past week. It got even weirder when he had arrived home that day, and realised that he was alone.
Sat in the kitchen Charlie didn’t think of much, all his thoughts seemed to revolve around food, the chocolate puddings in the fridge that no one but him was allowed to touch in a particular way.
He had guessed it was normal, he was just craving food, he was allowed to crave food, he was allowed to eat, he should grab some and have it, even. Fuck his anorexia, right?
Everything spirals from there.
What started with a simple ‘I can have this pudding’ immediately turned into ‘well, might as well have all of them.’ While eating the chocolate, he was thinking about everything inside their pantry, what he could have next. After emptying every cup of pudding he took out a big slice of ungrated parmesan cheese from the fridge and started munching on it. Out of control, the last thing he remembers is turning on the oven and popping inside a tray of frozen fish fingers while taking out a tub of gelato from the freezer.
At some point he had realised the food didn’t really taste like anything anymore. He wasn’t empty like he had grown accustomed to, he wasn’t hungry either, just full. Awfully, uncomfortably full, and despite how bad and miserable that fullness made him he just couldn’t stop, not until every last bit of all that was edible in front of him was gone.
By the end of it Charlie could finally take in the terrible mess he had made of the kitchen and he rushed to clean everything in a fit of panic. Get rid of the proof of what he had done.
Quickly, the dishes and silverware had been washed and put away, while the empty wrappers and cups found their place at the bottom of the trash. Initially, still panicking, Charlie had almost considered throwing them out the window because the bin was just there, his dad could see them, Tori could see them, his mom could see them. So he ended up digging in rubbish with his bare hands.
But no empty wrapper or chocolate stain was more unsettling than the feeling of uncomfortable fullness that made it hard to even walk. Charlie hated it so much. He had been bad, he had lost control and it resulted in his stomach protruding and just the thought of all the food he couldn’t stop himself from shoving down his throat made him want to shove his hands inside his stomach and scrape out his insides.
Every racing thought had halted at that point. Remembering that he could, actually, undo everything and regain control made his mind halt and without realising his legs were taking him to the bathroom.
He locked the door, got the sink running with cold water and stared inside the clean toilet. He had never done that. He had never even entertained the thought of it! He used to think those people who would eat and then make themselves sick were just so silly because wouldn’t it be wasteful? Wouldn’t it be painful?
He still doesn’t get it, as he bends in half with his left hand holding onto the toilet and two of his right hand fingers shoved down his throat.
But then again, when he was younger he used to see News about teenage girls and the rising mortality rate of anorexia and think they were just so silly, because food was so good, tasted so good, why would anybody want to starve themselves? He certainly could never, ever do that.
The fingers jab at the back of his throat and suddenly Charlie really wishes he had asked Amelia or Oscar some tips on how to do this because he has two fucking fingers down his throat and he still cannot gag. He tries scissoring them, moving them up and down and oh, he feels it coming up finally.
Charlie thinks he finally gets it, as he throws up once, twice and that awful feeling of full disappears. It is a relief.
He runs his right hand under the cold water before shoving the fingers down again and again and again. Vomiting makes him dizzy but the need to get everything out of his system is stronger, no matter how much his throat hurts or how watery his eyes get or how nasty his mouth tastes.
Eventually he stops, still not quite as empty as he’d like to be but way too out of liquids to make the purge anything less than absolutely, excruciatingly painful. His knuckles are bright red, his throat is sore and Charlie feels like he has regained at least a fraction of control lost to the food.
He brushes his teeth thoroughly, trying to wash the taste of fish away. The chocolate, especially the gelato, had been nicer to get out, it almost felt like eating it a second time, but the fish had been downright nasty on the way out and for some split seconds the taste had made him want to die more than the weight in his stomach.
Once he’s done, he shows his tongue to the mirror and throws a peace sign at his reflection. He must look very silly, all teary eyed and still trying to look cheerful. Before undressing and getting in the shower, he tears a long piece of toilet paper and cleans the toilet seat on both sides because he had been incredibly aware of the splash of vomit that reached his face and hair, and needed to make sure none remained under the seat.
In the end, Charlie flushes the toilet and enters the shower, trying to figure out a way to excuse his sore throat to Nick and deciding whether he should bring this up to Geoff during their next bi-weekly session.
Yeah, as he takes out a small residue of half chewed, half digested fish from his hair he decides he definitely needs to bring this up as soon as possible.