1. IN MY SKIN
SPECIAL EDITION
A special issue dedicated to
shedding light on difficult, unique
topics or giving a voice to those
who don’t often speak out.

2. 6 | The Independent Collegian | Wednesday, March 26, 2014
LEARNING TO
love MYSELF
DANIELLE GAMBLE
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Editor’s note: this column contains
imagery that may be disturbing.
Rice was my favorite thing to vomit.
First, it’s bland, so the taste isn’t jarring
the way that really flavorful things like
tomato sauces can be. Tomatoes and spicy
things burn a lot more coming up, and the
smell of acid clings longer to your fingers
and your breath.
Second, rice has a granular composition
that’s physically easier to throw up. It
doesn’t get clumpy the way potatoes and
bread get, turning into hunks of starch be-
ing shoved the wrong way through a fun-
nel. Pasta is a little easier than rice because
it’s softer, but it could never win for me be-
cause it’s too dangerous.
Take for example the first time I binged
on Ramen Noodles. I ate three packs in one
sitting over the course of about four min-
utes; I used a fork to shovel heaping
mounds into my mouth, swallowing as fast
as I could with barely a chew. I finished,
quietly soaked up the heavy, salty calm of
the moment, then quickly padded barefoot
to the bathroom.
After just one heave, I realized my mis-
take. The long strands of noodles — too
long to completely throw up in one gag —
were caught between my lips and my stom-
ach, and now they were choking me. Even
though I couldn’t breathe, there was no
panic. I grabbed the glob of barely-digested
Ramen hanging from my mouth and
pulled it slowly from my esophagus. I
could feel the wavy strands tickle the sides
of my throat.
I was 12, and it was my second year
dealing with bulimia.
Bulimia felt like an active choice at first.
Actually, when I first started binging and
purging in sixth grade, every session felt
like practice, like I was slowly acquiring an
important skill. I was only throwing up
sporadically, about once every few weeks,
so I didn’t really think I could call myself
bulimic. That title, in my mind, was re-
served for girls far more dedicated than I.
Over the years, the pace picked up de-
pending on my weight. When I was heavi-
er, I would vomit about once a week if I
had a particularly heavy meal. If I was go-
ing through a thin period, I’d do it at least
once every two days, more often if I was
feeling vulnerable.
Around my senior year of high school, I
lost a bunch of weight and reached a num-
ber I hadn’t seen since early junior high. I
started throwing up every day, and often
binging and purging multiple times a day. I
stole extra food from the cafeteria so I
could eat it in the bathroom and throw up
immediately. I made excuses to stay home
alone on the weekends so I could cook, eat
and vomit back-to-back meals — some-
times for hours.
About four months in, I hit a huge wall
of depression. A few thoughts of suicide
later, I finally opened up to my mom and
begged her to put me in counseling. I was
ready to talk, to get off the food merry-go-
round. Unfortunately, the woman I saw was
more concerned with sharing the Lord’s
word than listening to any of my words,
and I feigned a “full recovery” after just
three visits.
At that point, I thought this crazy pre-
occupation with food was only about
control. My brush with psychoanalysis
informed me that I was feeling out of
control in life — “out of control” being a
very subdued way of phrasing it all —
and throwing up was my way of fighting
back. I was externalizing my anxieties in
a physical way that felt more tangible
than my nagging thoughts. Or some-
thing like that.
But I wasn’t in control, so I resigned my-
self to living with an addiction. It was hard
to resist the overwhelming high of a stom-
ach about to burst. Even the vomiting felt
good; it was so cathartic, so righteously
brutal, so painfully sweet. I looked at it
much like smoking — it was an unhealthy
habit that I had a hard time controlling. I
fell off the wagon fairly often, and it was a
frustrating and shameful process to get my-
self back on.
During the fall of my sophomore year at
the University of Toledo, I met an older guy
through mutual friends. We became close
friends almost immediately in the way that
happens rarely, and only between people
who are kindred spirits. It wasn’t long be-
fore I told him that I had an eating disor-
der, as I had with a handful of other people
through the years.
But then I told him something I’d never
told anyone else: I didn’t want to stop. I
could deal with the countless sore
throats, the raw fingers and the occasion-
al blood vessel bursting in my eyes. I
couldn’t deal with the anxiety of living a
purge-free life.
He didn’t ask me to stop throwing up.
He didn’t ask me any questions. He lis-
tened to everything I wanted to say, and
then hugged me afterward for as long as
I needed.
But he did ask me to do two things.
“I was only throwing up
sporadically, about once
every few weeks, so I
didn’t really think I could
call myself bulimic. That
title, in my mind, was
reserved for girls far
more dedicated than I.”
How an eating disorder shaped my life
COMMENTARY

3. Wednesday, March 26, 2014 | The Independent Collegian | 7
He gave me a copy of “Unbearable Lightness”
by Portia de Rossi (the wife of Ellen DeGe-
neres) and told me to read it as soon as I had
the time. Then he gave me the number to
UT’s counseling center and asked me to sign
up for free sessions as soon as I was ready.
I read “Unbearable Lightness” the next
day as fast as I could drag my eyes across
the page. It was an in-your-face, agonizing-
ly candid account of de Rossi’s struggle
with bulimia and anorexia, and it broke
me. I finished the last few pages through a
curtain of tears.
As I closed the book, a beam of light
streamed through my conscience. I realized
that all of this pain, this delirium that I had
submerged myself in, had exactly one cause.
Everything came to a single truth so stun-
ningly simple that it felt like it was printed in
bold letters on the walls of the cosmos.
I was doing this because I hated my-
self. And I could only stop if I decided
to love myself.
With this epiphany echoing through my
rib cage, I got out of bed and went into the
bathroom — the scene of so much chaos
and pain. I took off all of my clothes,
looked in the mirror, and sobbed as I
uttered the words I’d been waiting to hear
for eight years:
“I’m sorry.”
Those words changed my life. The next
week, I began counseling at UT (which was
absolutely incredible and incalculably valu-
able). I started learning how to deal with
my low self-esteem and started to unlearn
all of the “black and white” thinking that
leads to a lot of bad eating and living hab-
its. Instead of just focusing on my disorder,
I was working on the causes of it.
I’m now three years into recovery, and
honestly — well, sometimes it sucks. I’m
heavier than I’ve ever been in my life be-
cause I’ve had to unlearn a lifetime of
harmful eating quirks. I’m trying to come
to terms with what is now an incredible
fear of dieting. When I’ve been really low
or mentally shaken, I’ve used purging as
an emotional crutch. I’m just now learn-
ing how to wait for hunger before I eat,
and what it means to not be mentally
starving every minute of the day.
Recovery is an extremely long process
that comes with its own demons, and actu-
ally, I’m not sure it ever really ends.
But I wouldn’t trade recovery for
anything in the world. Yeah, it’s hard, but
so is anything this amazing.
My heart and my capacity for happiness
have grown exponentially — I’m like the
Grinch after Christmas, except with less
green fur. I truly love myself now, which
I’ve learned is actually the only way you
can learn to truly love other people. And,
just as importantly, I can now trust other
people to love me back.
I hope that you’re in a healthy place, too,
but it’s equally likely that you’re not. Maybe
you have a problem with food. Maybe
you’re addicted to a substance. Maybe you
can’t let go of a person who’s really bad for
you. If that’s you, please understand this:
It’s okay. You are a person caught up in a
bad circumstance, but that does not mean
you are bad. You can get out of where you
are, and there are people who can help you.
But at the end of the day, you are the only
person who can make the change. And you
can only do that when you realize you are
worth fighting for.
And you are worth it.
Free counseling is available at the Coun-
seling Center to all students currently en-
rolled. The center is located in Rocket Hall
Room 1810 and is open Monday through
Friday from 8:15 a.m. to 5 p.m. To set up an
appointment, walk in or call 419-530-2426.
For more information, visit www.utoledo.
edu/studentaffairs/counseling/index.html.
Danielle Gamble is a fifth-year double ma-
joring in communication and music, and the
editor-in-chief of The Independent Collegian.
“Recovery is an extremely
long process that comes
with its own demons, and
actually, I’m not sure it ever
really ends. But I wouldn’t
trade recovery for anything
in the world. Yeah, it’s hard,
but so is anything this
amazing.”
What do you do when your friend needs help?
P
icture this: a friend of yours has been hav-
ing a tough time. They’ve been acting dif-
ferent lately and you’re a little worried.
Then — maybe after weeks of inquiries, maybe
out of the blue — your friend opens up to you.
And it’s big.
Eating disorders, depression, sexual assault,
thoughts of suicide: these are all serious topics
that a friend could reach out to you about for
help. And helping someone you care about
through these types of situations can be tricky.
It’s not that you don’t want to talk to them; it’s
that you don’t want to hurt them. You don’t want
to say the wrong thing. Heck, you’re not really
sure what to say at all.
As somebody who has had friends open up to
her, and someone who has asked friends for help,
I can tell you that it’s difficult for both parties.
Here are some pieces of advice for you if you
end up in a delicate conversation with a friend
who needs help — advice that should help both
of you feel good about your heart-to-heart.
Listen more than you talk. Even if the
conversation becomes very dark, let your friend vent.
This will help them diffuse a lot of negative energy.
Be non-judgmental. Yes, these kinds of con-
versations can be really hard to hear, and they can even
get graphic. But expressing shock or judgment at a per-
son’s feelings or behavior in this context could make
them shut down, or try to dial back their honesty.
Don’t argue with a person about
why they’re being self-destructive.
This conversation is about supporting them in getting
help — not about convincing them that how they feel
is wrong. Don’t make your friend feel like they need to
justify themselves to you, and definitely don’t ask for
details that they don’t want to provide.
Be yourself, and don’t feel like you
need to be an expert. If being yourself
doesn’t include being certified in crisis counseling,
there are plenty of resources you can point a friend to
who needs more assistance than you can give.
Don’t blame yourself. How your friend
feels is not something you can control — you can only
support them in their recovery.
Assume that threats of self-harm
or suicide are genuine. If you cannot per-
sonally attend to that person, call emergency services or
someone nearby. And never leave a suicidal person alone.
Don’t promise secrecy. Of course, topics
like a friend’s depression or sexual assault aren’t some-
thing you would tell just anyone. But never promise that
you won’t reach out to a mental health expert, especially if
someone is having thoughts about suicide.
Questions you can ask:
• How do you feel?
• When did you begin feeling like that?
• Did something happen that made you start feeling
this way?
• How can I best support you right now?
• Have you thought about getting help?
Things that are nice to hear:
• I’m concerned about you, and I want to listen to
whatever it is you have to say.
• You are not alone in this. I’m here for you.
• You may not believe it now, but your negative feelings
will change.
• I may not be able to understand exactly how you feel,
but I care about you and want to help.By Danielle Gamble. Advice courtesy HelpGuide.org.