FORMER BULIMIC OFFERS HOPE; WOMAN SAYS DISORDER CONSUMED HER

Cynthia Rowland McClure's days began with two hours of exercise and a piece of toast for breakfast. But she never really ate until the "monster" would come out, usually at about 2 p.m.

Then, she'd make her way to the candy machine at her television news studio, where she worked as a reporter, and buy six to 12 candy bars. Making sure no one watched, she'd rip open the packages and devour them in minutes.

"I never tasted food, but when I ate, that's when the panic began," she said.

Following her regular pattern, she'd vomit all she'd eaten in the restroom at work, then return to her desk until it was time to go home.

"On the way home, there were three McDonald's. I'd stop at every one of them and get whatever I wanted," she said.

One last stop at a convenience store where once she bought so much junk food the clerk asked if she was having a party and she was stocked for an evening of binging. Safe at home, where she lived alone, she'd eat all she'd bought, pop a box of laxatives and go to bed.

After a night of constant bouts of diarrhea, she'd wake up the next morning and swear to herself she'd never do it again. But for years she did.

McClure, who spoke Thursday to a group of about 150 students at Southeast Missouri State University, said her battle with bulimia began at age 16, when her father offered her $300 to lose 15 pounds.

She lost 17, and was paid $500 in all $100 each for the two extra pounds. She said the offer, and the importance her father had placed on her looks, was the beginning of her battle with bulimia.

At her lowest point, her 5-foot, 10-inch frame weighed just 118 pounds, and she was taking up to 100 laxatives every day.

But she didn't think she had a problem.

"From 16 to 23, I thought it was just a great way to lose weight," she said.

McClure, now 36, suffered from bulimia for 12 years before she recognized what she calls the "monster" inside her that drove her to binge and purge.

She is now the author of several books on eating disorders and credits intensive therapy for saving her life.

McClure described the feelings of inadequacy and loneliness that made her look to food for comfort, and the belief that she had to be thin to be loved and accepted. She said during most of the time she had the disease, she felt suicidal.

"I was dying," she said, explaining how after fasting for three days, she swallowed 25 laxatives before going to bed and woke up with no feeling on the right side of her body.

When a friend found her, her lips were turning blue. She rushed her to the hospital. That's when, McClure said, she decided she needed help.

Three months in a Dallas psychiatric hospital that specializes in eating disorders helped break her cycle of binging and purging, but the emotional repair took longer, she said.

"We're talking about a symptom that means something else is wrong," she said of bulimia, the uncontrollable urge to consume massive amounts of food and then rid the body of it through vomiting or use of laxatives.

She said that like many bulimics she felt abandoned by her parents and other family members. Many bulimics were sexually, physically or verbally abused as children, she said.

McClure, who was badly burned across her lower body at the age of 4, said she always felt like "damaged freight." Food made her feel better and helped numb the pain.

"As a child, that candy was my mother, father, brother, best friend," she said. "It was my comfort."

Her condition also was life-threatening. When McClure checked into the hospital, she was monitored for a heart attack for two weeks and doctors said the potassium level in her body was so low they were amazed she was alive.

"It also took a month before I had a bowel movement," she said.

McClure said not only group but family therapy helped her confront her anger toward her parents and brother and "made me learn my worth is not based on what I look like."

Now 160 pounds, married, and the mother of an adopted son, McClure said she is "dealing with" her life.

"I'm happy, I'm grown up, I feel good," she said. "The bottom line is, I had to forgive."

McClure's lecture was sponsored by the Center for Health and Counseling and the Office of Campus Activities.