Monday, January 10, 2011

Running away

I wish you could read the silence concealed in these words; the way it cunningly masquerades as her lover. Forever armed with disguise.

I wish you could apprehend the meaning encrypted in these words. But the voice, the mind, the soul, the words have been taken to where darkness itself goes to hides.

I thought she was ready to know.

But no. She must run with the secrets and run faster than the truth can catch her.

It has become enough.

She is not ready.

It’s so embarrassing to talk about. But I must. The old me who didn’t really want to recover would let herself slip and not tell until it was almost too late. I’ve made up my mind to speak as I fall, and I’m falling fast, invisible though it may be.

Ever since the summer, I’ve tried to outrun myself. Outrun the diagnosis, outrun the abuse, outrun the girl who was getting a “B” in class. I can’t run today. There’s nothing to do on these snow days but stop, face myself, and reveal the best that she can’t.

The disordered eating is bad and I’m embarrassed to admit how low I’ve sunk, all the subterfuge and half truths I tell Husband. I am so hungry right now it is hard to think. I’ve lain lethargic and irritable on the couch today, except for the times when I’ve purged. I ate, not planning on purging, but when the thought enters the head the behavior is foregone. I’m beyond obsessed with my weight. And it happened so quickly. I’ve been restricting and binging and purging, everyday, sometimes twice a day. Sometimes I wait for husband to go to bed, other times I just tell him I don’t feel good, the rest of the time I purge with him in the next room and tell him nothing. He doesn’t acknowledge what I’m doing, if he even knows. I threw away the signs of my binge earlier this week, but dug the leftovers from the outsisde trash so I could binge and purge more.

Physically I have grown sick. And this is absolutely the worst time for my eating disorder to grow monstrous again. I’ve got to be smarter than this for the final semester of classes before I go into the public school classroom. I don’t know if I have another “mind’ to throw away again.

Sadness and desperation paints the whole body.

I know it’s no use asking for rescue. That job belongs to us. But I wish I could be delivered from my pain. But I wouldn’t know where to tell you to find me. Under the layers of rehearsed smiles and empty tries I lay still as death, begging for you to find me, but afraid someone else will find me instead. It feels there is no more out there for me. The big fat tears tell me there is nothing else I can do to make me good. I promise not to be bad. Just find me, please. Just find me, please.