Today I had yet another expensive counseling session with a lady who specializes in my specific form of messed up. The amount of cash I have to fork over to get better is dismaying. It makes one wonder how much we want to be healthy.
I've spent the last three days hiding in my room surrounded by slowly-emptying jars of peanut butter, candy wrappers, wedges of cheese. Watching comedy specials and vapid rom-coms so that I don't have to notice how much damage I am doing to my body. Sneaking upstairs into the kitchen when roommates aren't around, and scurrying back when they appear, head and arms down in the hope that they won't smell the despair.
What day is it today? I've lost so much time trying not to exist, even as I expand outward in infinity.
Work comes as a relief; a chance to be away from food for some hours, to force myself out of this funk. But even there there is cake and chocolate and bread, and it's the last thing I want but I want it because I'm too far gone now.
Counseling helps, but the only one that can fix me is me. I have to want it and earn it through my actions. I have to decide to give myself a big old hug and promise to be kind and loving to this one and only body and soul. I know I can, but I don't know why it's so hard. But I know it won't always be. Tomorrow I will get up and fight again.
