I’m normally very bored at work. There’s just not enough work. And while I should be happy about that, I don’t like being bored. I don’t function well when I’m bored. My thoughts usually start to wander into the darkness. I try to avoid that as much as I can. I spend my days reading articles and looking through pictures. And I’m pretty good at wasting the day away. But today, I had a moment, where I actually had to acknowledge the truth.
I was mindlessly looking through tumblr and saw a pic that said, “I just want to feel pretty.” I read it as, “I just want to feel empty.”
When I realized it, I kinda chuckled. At first. I mean, I’m going through a period of some not so good/nice digestive issues, so it is kinda funny. But then I realized that I kinda did this last string of issues to myself. I know what the consequences are (well, at least I think I know. I’m still in the “trial and error” phase), but I really didn’t care. Still kinda don’t.
About a month ago, I was ready, willing, and able to admit I was in the midst of a relapse. I knew what I was dealing with was more than a slip. I was intentionally restricting, bingeing, and purging. I knew this. And I knew (know) it never leads anywhere good. But somewhere between admitting being in a relapse and my next therapy appointment, I was back on the denial boat.
For the most part, I’ve been honest with my therapist about my “behavior usage.” (UGH! I hate that term. I hate “symptoms,” even more.) But I’ve probably withheld exactly how much I’m struggling. It’s not right, but it’s what I do.
Besides, I can handle it. Right? Right.
Well, maybe not.