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.