Running on Empty

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Why God, can I not stop? How hard can it be to find consolation in your love rather than the porcelain king in my bathroom? I have been to many therapists, usually with no prevail. It is not as if they are not helpful, but the sessions weren’t constructive or I was a poor student. I have done journaling, visualizing, workbooks, developing pages and pages of alternate coping mechanisms, screaming, crying, and then nothing at all. They say that binging/purging produces a feeling of being high. I guess, now I need to find something to take me higher.

Sometimes I envision a scene where I am wading in the shallow depths of a lake, slowly walking in deeper and deeper, watching as the skirt of my dress floats up to surface, resisting what is to come. Below are my knees, which I have always abhorred, but now I see only the strength of my legs, feel that cold earth between my toes. The water is frigid, but not nearly as much as my intent. My belly is showing its strength too, despite being a victim of punishment, enduring the pain of extrusion, bloatedness, stretching, and nausea. Finally the water is up to my breasts and in admission of defeat I turn around one last time … I am standing at the water’s edge, looking out at the woman wading into the water, almost completely submerged. I raise my hand, which appears smooth, without scarred knuckles from years of abuse, and wave to her. My lips and eyes smile deeply, so much so that I know the twinkle in my eyes is glowing now. I wave to her, knowing this is the end. She was a dear friend, the best friend I have ever had actually, yet I feel no grief, just euphoria and compassion. Then she disappears.

I am sure you know who she is … she is my eating disorder.