I can’t come up with a better way of describing the feelings I’ve been having. Last time I cried this much I was going through a divorce, and second time a break up. It’s the gut wrenching feeling of losing something you loved. I loved being able to hide in my bulimia. I watched a lot of comedies on my own. It made me laugh, not cry. I didn’t feel as if I was without. I felt okay. I felt in all that internalization that all was okay. No one missed me, and no one cared, and it was comforting.
It’s so bizarre to let her go. My bulimia. It’s weird because as much as I hated her around me, she was always there. She never judged, never bothered me. Physically possibly hurt me, but not in any other way. I’m missing sometimes the me that was her. The one that learned not to care, or ate what she did. The one that held that wall so strongly in front of her. The one that my psychiatrist said was a China doll. Cold on the outside, but so fragile. True that. But here on this “earth” we’re not allowed to be fragile, to feel, to love too much, to care too much. Those who do hurt too much. Since she’s been gone all that has surfaced. I can’t hide anymore and I’m scaring people because now they see the true me. The one that is vulnerable, the one that has always been. They say “you’re strong”, but they see in my eyes now that I’m not. I’m not saying that I won’t make it. That I won’t stop this pain. It will go away, but like some volcano it’s blown out of proportion. Maybe if I run fast enough the lava won’t reach me and I’ll survive. But sometimes running isn’t worth a damn. And again the question is where do you run to?