In my sophomore year I made sure my meal plan wasn't the all-you-can-eat type. Secondly, I decided there'd be no beer, sub or pizza runs. (By then I'd given up beer as a conviction of faith anyway) Thirdly, I decided to fast once a week thinking this would help my faith and my figure at the same time. (Don't judge me; I was a new believer and a soon-to-be bulimic.)

I have to be perfectly honest here—dieting stunk. I was hungry, bored and couldn't hang out with people much because they always seemed to want to eat or get drunk at some point. Slowly I was drifting into depression as I became consumed with weight loss—which of course meant I was consumed with myself. I tried to lower my calories more and more to see quicker results, and learned it was much easier to put on weight than it was to take it off. Even reducing my calories to 800 a day failed to take off the weight. Contemplating 600 calories a day seemed impossible and yet I was determined to get thin. I had no idea that I was slowing my metabolism to a standstill. At that time I had no idea what a metabolism was!

Things went from bad to worse when I watched a movie about a girl with anorexia. The girl got thinner and thinner as she ate less and less and exercised more and more. By the end of the film she looked like a skeleton. (Oh, how I ached to be a skeleton!) Instead of working as a deterrent it actually taught me point-by-point, how to develop a full-blown eating disorder. Toward the end of the movie when she stuck her finger down her throat to vomit food I was in! I walked right into the girl's bathroom and did the same thing. It was much easier on television. It was clear that I would have to perfect this disgusting technique. Discovering the exact trigger point to make the food hurl from the stomach doesn't come naturally. The body fights this instinct, and it took me dozens of tries to get it right. Once I perfected it, it tasted and smelled far worse than cherry sour balls and beer.

I continued dieting and if I felt I had messed up by eating a cookie or two out came the magic finger. While perfecting my new hobby I began to shun friends. In fact I was so disagreeable during this period of my life that Tammy, my bright and shiny Christian roommate, moved out. Who could blame her? When others came to replace her, with cold eyes I warned them that I did NOT want a roommate. I lived alone. By the end of my sophomore year I decided to drop out of college. The more and more I focused on me the sicker and more depressed I became.

Thinking a change of scenery would do the trick and ease my malaise I opted to start my acting career in New York City two years early. Forging my way through confusing subway lines and cattle calls I quickly landed a manager who promptly told me it would be good for my career if I could lose a few pounds! It's true the camera does add ten pounds. Ugh! Back to the drawing board (or the toilet if you will.)

I needed a job in order to pay for headshots and train fare, but ironically the only job I could secure was at an Italian bakery. A bulimic in a bakery is not a good mix. The chubby owner graciously told me while on the job I could help myself to anything I wanted to eat. Oh no! It was a nightmare! Surrounded by fresh donuts, cream puffs, cannolis, éclairs and Italian cookies, (as well as pies and cakes) I was in constant anguish. Just packing a box of rainbow cookies dipped in chocolate was torture. Pulling down the red and white string to tie up the temptation put me in a cold sweat. It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. The idea of weight loss never left me, rather it consumed me. Calorie counting, calorie cutting, fasting and or puking were my favorite pastimes. Okay that's a lie--I hated every minute of it, and yet I deceived myself thinking, "If I could just control my weight then I'd be happy."

Somehow I thought controlling my weight put me in control. It didn't. The truth was that food was my master, and I was the slave. "No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other or he will be devoted to one and despise the other..." (Matthew 6:24a)

Since I'm an honest person I never took anything home from the bakery (unless I paid for it.) My boss had said that while I was at work I could eat whatever I wanted... It was doable, because there is a purging window—just enough time to eat and then get rid of it. The thing is, if you wait too long the food begins to digest and um... tastes far worse coming up. Plus there is the danger of being overheard since it's impossible to vomit in silence. My parents never knew my secret even though we all shared only one bathroom. Even if I only ate two cookies I would perform the following ritual:

I'd walk directly to the bathroom and turn on the faucet to hide the puking sound. Then I would stick my finger down my throat and hope that what I had eaten would come up on the first try. (I say 'hope' because for new bulimics it can take three or four tries to get your stomach to obey.) Next I would flush. If the contents floated upward, I would wait for the tank to refill and flush again. I would brush my teeth and tongue then lift the toilet lid to see if anything had spattered on the underside. If so I would clean the toilet. Sound like fun? It's not. It's the most vile, disgusting and degrading disorder in the world. I would enter the restroom feeling anxious and leave feeling ashamed and humiliated.

I even found a bulimia buddy. Holly and I met at an audition and we hit it off instantly. We'd hang out on the weekends and once, late at night I broke my silence and bared my soul. Holly admitted that she too binged and purged. (She was thin and gorgeous by the way, only reinforcing my hope for success.) But rather than helping each other stop the madness she said, "Don't you hate it when you vomit and the only thing that comes up is the lettuce?" You see lettuce has no calories and... oh, never mind.

Then something awful happened. I found a new friend. Only this friend couldn't have cared less about her weight. She was a pretty blond and her favorite food was an ice cream sundae. At that time Wednesdays were very special at Carvel... We could buy one sundae get one free! So every Wednesday we'd venture to Carvel, and each get a hot fudge sundae. Lana would digest hers and I'd vomit mine. After all I couldn't hurt her feelings, could I? Unfortunately I discovered that ice cream isn't that bad coming back up. In fact, it's one of the easiest foods to purge. Disgraceful.

You may be disgusted by me right now. Or you may be disgusted with yourself for having similar behaviors. First of all let me say something you've probably heard before, but it still rings true. The media (magazines, television, movies, Internet, social media etc.) perpetuates this problem in women. We feel inadequate unless we look a certain way. Then we're hit with a double whammy! During that very television program with the Baywatch beauties a commercial airs tempting you with all sorts of affordable goodness. "Two all beef patties, special sauce lettuce, cheese, pickles onions on a sesame seed bun." Or how about Dunkin Donuts famous: "Time to make the donuts" campaign? Nowadays we have the horrid Dollar Value meals enabling us to get our double cheeseburgers so inexpensively that we don't even think about the cost to our bodies. It's the ultimate oxymoron, folks. Look like a supermodel yet eat like a trash can! We are bombarded with ads showing beautiful, but nearly emaciated girls and then turn a page in our fashion magazines to see succulent meat with cheese laden potatoes begging to be eaten. Is this a paradox? Do you think that maybe, just maybe--someone wants to make a buck off our weakness?

At the time all of my focus was on me, me, me! All the ads I read were about me. All the delicious food was tempting me. The string bikini at Macy's wanted me to wear her to Robert Moses beach that summer. So how did I get out of this vicious. cycle? Did I go to counseling? (A good resource for many! Hear me, when I say that I do advocate counseling!) But no, I did not go that route. I did, however, go to church. Did I receive a healing? No, I did not, although I'm sure this happens for some. My epiphany was much more subtle than years of counseling or an instant healing by God. It was humanity. God allowed humanity to speak to me.