#dayoneagain

Here we are.

#AnotherMonday

#Anewweek

Maybe “this” will be the week.

Maybe.

Last night as the running water and bathroom fan silenced the noise, I swore it would be “the last time”.

Again.

I am tired.

I am tired of being tired.

I am tired of trying and failing and trying and failing.

I am tired of hiding and not asking for help.  If I had cancer, help would be abundant, and support would be everywhere.  With cancer I would be deemed a “warrior” as I battled it and, with the grace of God, conquered it.

With this, I am not a warrior. I feel more like a silent soldier, just soldiering on each day, winning some and losing most.

I have had weeks and months of wins before, but then it comes back — haunting me, taunting me, and reminding me that I am a failure…again.  It’s almost like it’s saying, “Oh, how cute…you thought you could beat me.”

Something changed today though, and has been slowly changing.  Last week I told my husband about it.  I have told him about it before, but then we drop it.  This time I said,”I need help”.  I know he wants to help me, but doesn’t quite know how.  Today I called someone who does.  We have an appointment tomorrow at 4:15pm.  Why her?  I liked her website.  It didn’t feel “judgy” or clinical.  It felt “homey”. She sounded nice – warm, comforting, safe.  I will know if we “fit” tomorrow, and I am just praying we do.  It’s time.

I went once, a few years ago.  I hated it.  It was in a medical building.  I felt vulnerable and exposed checking in and sitting in a waiting room.  The room itself felt cold, and then the questions.  They felt like a medical checklist, and I wanted to just walk out.  I never went back and my Doctor never asked how the appointment went.  In fact, she never brought it up again.

I have told friends and family throughout the years, and it’s been many years (almost 11 now), and then it just fades away never to be brought up again.  Its an icky topic after all, and no-one quite knows what to say.

Would I if it weren’t me?

I have #bulimia

It started on August 2, 2008, and while it has come and gone, it has mostly stayed.

10 years, 11 months, 6 days or,

131 months, 6 days or,

3992 days or,

95,808 hours or,

5,748,480 minutes or,

344,908,800 seconds.

No matter how you break it down, its been a long time.  

Almost 1/4 of my life.  

It has taken up head space, heart space, and soul space, and I am tired.

Maybe “this” will be the week.

Maybe.

#bulimiarecovery #day1

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