I've had an eating disorder for the past three or so years. It all started when I was 14, going to high school,and weighed in at over 180 pounds. I was unconsciously miserable; I hated myself and my disgusting body. That summer I lost 62 pounds which leaves me at 118 pounds-my happy weight. Freshman year was a dream [besides the always annoying and slightly embarrassing exclaim, "How did you do it?!"], I aced all of my classes and made the Top 20 highest grade list. I fit into a size two and maintained that low weight. Eventually I got to the point where I was comfortable enough to indulge in some fatty foods. After a chorus concert one night my mother took me out for ice cream, my favorite dessert, and [ as nervous as I was] I slopped it up selfishly. Soon after that well deserved snack I felt hungry. I was shocked; I'd gone months on only eating a bowl of cereal and a sand which throughout each the day. I started to feel shakey and light headed-a sense not unfamiliar to me- and went to bed. It was that night that I felt happier then I think I've ever been. I had had a glorious night with my mother,eaten a delicious three scoop ice cream, and had actually LOST weight. Often I revert back to that moment when grasping for a feeling of satisfaction. Halfway through the year we went on vacation to the Dominican Republic with our neighbors and [ so far] life long friends. I felt great. Everyone thought I looked great in my new "vacation" deemed clothes and especially my first and only bikini. My sister Chloe whom I roomed with constantly told me how skinny I was. Whenever we got changed or I put on a slightly short top which displayed my overly protruding hipbones she admired loathingly. I enjoyed the compliments but also empathized with my bloated older sister. One night after we had eaten lunch at the bufe [I had a bowl of ice cream] Chloe claimed she had to take a shower. A couple minutes in to her supposed shower I heard coughing, the coughing continued and then I heard splashes. I knocked on the door and asked Chloe if she was okay. She said yes but I lingered by the door; more splashes. When she came out I asked her if she was sick from lunch, she said "no" and then changed the subject quickly. I couldnt believe it, my sister was bulimic. I told my mother about Chloe's "incident." She brought up a stern face and nodded at me. I thought she would take care of it. For the rest of vacation Chloe continued to purge her food whilst I continued to purge my concerns. My mother never did anything, she didn't even have a talk with Chloe. Maybe it wasnt as big a deal as I presumed it to be. Is throwing up okay? Is it just another dieting technique? These thoughts wrigled in my head for the next several months and then, one day, I did it. I felt great afterwards; all my guilty enveloped food was no longer mine. The next day I binged again, I purged again. As the days were diagonally crossed on the calendar I was tricked further into bulimia. The trickery being that what I was doing caused no harm. When my mother found out she threatened psychiatry for both me and my sister. Her threats were soon enough followed through and that's when I met Dr. Malone. Our first session was a joint one with my mother and my sister. In that meeting I belted the infamous quote, "I can't even eat an apple without feeling bad." Why was that quote infamous? Chloe would often murmer it to friends when describing her poor sisters infliction, she always failed to mention her own. I agreed to see Malone on a reguler basis; Chloe repeatedly denied any problem she was being accused of. Eventually I got to the point where I realized the dangers of bulimia. I've stopped throwing up but now I climb the scale faster then Kirstie Alley post Jenny Craig. I've decided to attempt to repeat the acts of summers before by losing mass amounts of weight. I now am pulled towards the center of the earth by 142 pounds. I know-disgusting. I'd like to get down to 118 in three weeks. Wish me luck,the diet starts today!