Bulimia & the Ocean.

My life is an ocean. A deep and dark ocean, spanning further than I could tell, with no land in sight.

I sink. Further and further. Darker and chilled. I begin to realize that I've been under for too long. Panic sets in.

I jolt, furiously racing upwards. The Binge.

I burst through the surface, and gasp a deep breath. I breathe again, again, and again as the panic starts to fade, and I feel: "you're okay, you're breathing." The Purge.

I rest, floating on my back, allowing the lingering after-effects to hold me up, to cradle me in comfort. But it only lasts a little while. Slowly, I begin to feel myself sinking again. And the cycle repeats.

That is my bulimia in relation to my life. It is a momentary gasp for air, in a suffocating existence. And I can't lie. Part of me loves it.

There is seemingly no better thing, than the feeling that comes over me after purging. I rinse my mouth, wash my face, and clean up after myself. I stumble out of the bathroom into a haze of nothingness. Emptiness. I am empty. Physically, yes. But more so, I hear nothing, I feel nothing, I see nothing. The noise is quiet, the harsh lights dim, and the pain subsides. It is the calm after the storm. Bingeing and purging is painful, but it is rewarded with a type of peace. If only for a little while.

And that is the problem. I know the peace, the freedom of an empty mind, is a lie. It is only an illusion, because it isn't lasting. It is not a resolved peace, but rather, a fleeting comfort that holds itself to no promises.

In the ocean, the issue isn't "how can I keep my head above water long enough to survive the next sinking?". The real question I should be asking is "WHY am I sinking at all? What is so heavy, so burdensome, that it would drag me to the ocean floor, and, if not for the instantaneous rescue of a damaging coping mechanism, drown me there?"

The reality is, one day, all of the bursting energy lifting me to the surface, will fade. I will become weaker. My body will fail me, no longer just in my thoughts, but in the literal sense of flesh and bone. And my last thoughts will most likely not be ones of comfort, but of regret. "I should have sought release from the heaviness, no matter how hard it would have been." Eventually I would have found my way to the surface, and stayed there, I would have breathed freely.

Instead, I face one final sinking.

Healing Hurts.

Tonight finds me broken. Crying. Hurt.

As all of the distractions I have continually used begin to fall away one by one, I'm left with hollow space. It's empty. There's nothing and no one to fill it.

I've had to grow up so much in the last year. Alone. And its been terrifying yet satisfying at the same time. I focused on ANYTHING but the terrifying part of it all. Unfortunately, when all of the other things to focus on are stripped away, there it lies, waiting for you. And it finally surfaces.

All the fear, worry, loneliness, difficulty, and stress suddenly rushes over me all at once. I've gone through so much. Alone. I had a supportive boyfriend during that time, good friends, and a wonderful treatment team. But the truth is, its hard for me to really be genuine with people. So, inevitably, I trick people into thinking that they know who I am and are close to me...but my reality is very different. I often feel like I don't genuinely connect with anyone because of my inability to be honest and vulnerable. I lose touch with people easily, I flake out on plans with people and lie about the reasons why.

It's lonely. And I don't know how to even begin to be who I really am. I don't even KNOW who I really am. I don't know what makes me happy, I'm never really in touch with what I'm feeling, nor can I articulate it, I have a few hobbies but I don't put very much effort into them because I'm sure I'm awful at them anyway. I don't even know what my personality is really like. All I really know in that area, is that I'm INCREDIBLY stubborn.

I don't know anymore. I'm just alone. And I've always had an aversion to being alone. That's why I've always had to have a boyfriend or some sort of love interest. But I know that I NEED to be alone right now. I just wish it didn't suck so bad. I keep telling myself that this is the first time I've ever really allowed myself to explore and be focused on myself, not someone else, so of course its painful and scary. And much to my dismay, I can't speed up the process.

 Healing takes however long it takes.

I hate to say it, but I still love my bulimia. It's the only form of identity I've ever had.

X.