A few exerpts, under the cut:
"To be a successful bulimic, you need to have a firm handle on the bathrooms in your life: their proximity to where you’re eating; the amount of privacy they offer; whether — if they’re public bathrooms with more than one stall — you can hear the door swing open and the footfall of a visitor with enough advance notice to stop what you’re doing and keep from being found out.
You need to be conscious of time. There’s no such thing as bulimia on the fly; a span of at least 10 minutes in the bathroom is optimal, because you may need 5 of them to linger at the sink, splash cold water on your face and let the redness in it die down. You should always carry a toothbrush and toothpaste, integral to eliminating telltale signs of your transgression and to rejoining polite society without any offense to it. Bulimia is a logistical and tactical challenge as much as anything else. It demands planning."
"My willpower could waver, I could gobble down more than I had meant to, and I wouldn’t have to go to bed haunted by the looming toll on my waistline or wake up the next morning owing the gods of weight management even more of a sacrifice than I owed them the day before. Throwing up was my safety valve. My mulligan."
"If I was going to empty my stomach — if I was going to go through all of that messy, beet-faced trouble — I might as well make the most of the buildup, might as well acknowledge and address all my cravings and satisfy them. That way, I’d be less tempted the next day. I’d be less likely to need to throw up."
"I read about blood-sugar levels and these chemicals called ketones and this charmed metabolic state in which you began to generate them or expel them or swirl in them or something along those lines. I didn’t exactly understand it but knew that my goal was to achieve this state, called “ketosis.” Ketosis was my preadolescent nirvana. It was what I wished for: ketosis, along with a new five-speed bicycle."
... I kind of love that last line.