FIRST BLOG
“Well, it’s no use your talking about waking him,” said Tweedledum, “when you’re only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you’re not real,”
“I am real!” said Alice, and began to cry.
“You won’t make yourself a bit realer by crying,” Tweedledee remarked; “there’s nothing to cry about.”
“If I wasn’t real,” Alice said – half laughing through her tears, it all seemed so ridiculous—“I shouldn’t be able to cry.”
“I hope you don’t think those are real tears?” Tweedledee interrupted in a tone of great contempt.
- Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
"I am real. I insist that I am real. My feelings are real and valid." I say this to myself as some sort of bizarre mantra, but I don't believe it. I feel strangely detached. To those who think you know me, I can almost guarantee that you do not know me as well as you think you do. The fact that I have been keeping one gigantic secret from you for seven years is a testament to that fact. And sadly, at how well I act and lie. I lie so well that I can even convince my own mind of my lies.
I broke down at the beginning of February and told my dirty little secret. The secret that I have convinced myself wasn't a problem. The fact of the matter is, when you go to the bathroom to eradicate your body of every trace of food by means of purging, there is a problem. A BIG problem.
I'm sure even now as people read this, many are thinking, "Ewwww...! How can someone do that to themselves?" I wish I could answer that question. Maybe the answer to that question holds the key to my recovery. How can I eat something and then feel some sick satisfaction as I watch it come out of my mouth and into the toilet? How can I feel relief and balanced as I cough and sputter afterwards with my face feeling as though tiny little pin points are all over my now flushed cheeks. Sometimes I cry wanting so badly to throw something at the mirror when I have to face myself as I'm washing my face of all traces of my addiction. Goddamn those stupid bathroom mirrors that are right there by the sink. I hate facing myself.
What's real is that every single time I eat, my mind and soul are waging a war inside my body.
“Well, it’s no use your talking about waking him,” said Tweedledum, “when you’re only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you’re not real,”
“I am real!” said Alice, and began to cry.
“You won’t make yourself a bit realer by crying,” Tweedledee remarked; “there’s nothing to cry about.”
“If I wasn’t real,” Alice said – half laughing through her tears, it all seemed so ridiculous—“I shouldn’t be able to cry.”
“I hope you don’t think those are real tears?” Tweedledee interrupted in a tone of great contempt.
- Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
"I am real. I insist that I am real. My feelings are real and valid." I say this to myself as some sort of bizarre mantra, but I don't believe it. I feel strangely detached. To those who think you know me, I can almost guarantee that you do not know me as well as you think you do. The fact that I have been keeping one gigantic secret from you for seven years is a testament to that fact. And sadly, at how well I act and lie. I lie so well that I can even convince my own mind of my lies.
I broke down at the beginning of February and told my dirty little secret. The secret that I have convinced myself wasn't a problem. The fact of the matter is, when you go to the bathroom to eradicate your body of every trace of food by means of purging, there is a problem. A BIG problem.
I'm sure even now as people read this, many are thinking, "Ewwww...! How can someone do that to themselves?" I wish I could answer that question. Maybe the answer to that question holds the key to my recovery. How can I eat something and then feel some sick satisfaction as I watch it come out of my mouth and into the toilet? How can I feel relief and balanced as I cough and sputter afterwards with my face feeling as though tiny little pin points are all over my now flushed cheeks. Sometimes I cry wanting so badly to throw something at the mirror when I have to face myself as I'm washing my face of all traces of my addiction. Goddamn those stupid bathroom mirrors that are right there by the sink. I hate facing myself.
What's real is that every single time I eat, my mind and soul are waging a war inside my body.
posted by Self Therapy | 6:42 AM
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