For those who misunderstand bulimia, who believe that it is a cop-out method of losing weight where we allow ourselves to indulge and erase:
Like the true sickness it is, it comes in waves.
For a few days, I feel completely fine. Well, I guess fine isn’t exactly the tag I would place on my emotions. They’re a complete roller-coaster, most of the time. Happy one minute, depressed the next – it’s like I’m riding a roller-coaster blind, actually, never knowing if I’ll soon be headed up or down or twisted or turned or looped around or upside down.
I wake up each morning, hopeful that today, I will be happy. Not the kind of happiness that comes from my surrounds or the events that conspire around me, though, because I’ve learned that kind of happiness isn’t true happiness. True happiness comes from some deep place within ourselves, and I’ve yet to learn how to draw it out of the inner well that it’s lurking in, to the surface to use and embrace. I wake up each morning, hoping that I will dig deep enough, find this mysterious “happiness,” and I go to bed each night, replaying my actions like a football team watching the game footage after a hard loss, searching for what they did wrong and how they can improve next time. There’s always tomorrow.
Tomorrow never comes, tomorrow is right now. The problem is that I don’t have the game footage to watch, over and over again. The past, in contrast to popular belief, is never 20/20.
There is no way we can gather exact information about our lives and the mistakes we have made in the past, because it’s all about perspective. When we were making mistakes, we were in a different mindset than the one we wear while observing our past. If you’re anything like me, I over-analyze everything I do to the point to where I have no idea what I’m even thinking about anymore. I analyze myself into confusion, like a sketch artist who stretches to perfect their art so much so that they’ve sketched the whole page black. There is nothing to see, anymore. It’s all black, and there’s no way to revert. This is why it’s so difficult for me to distinguish where I’ll be within the next few minutes, even. I have nothing to refer to from the past, because it’s all black. I’ve thought it all into a black hole, never to be retrieved as an aid, but instead to be looked back on and searched for, but never found.
So, things come in waves, like a true illness. When you’re sick, you know the feeling you get when you just have to go throw up, and it all rushes to you in a matter of seconds. You were managing to get by before, on medication and resting in bed, not straining too hard to make big strides. Just getting by, and then all of a sudden – woosh – a wave of sickness, and you just have to get rid of it. That’s how it is for me. Figuratively, in my mind, but then there’s no mental escape. How do you purge the thoughts in your mind? There’s no way to silence them, is there? If there is, I’m definitely missing it. The thoughts build and build and like a wave of sickness, the thoughts themselves even desire to be released. What happens when there’s no vessel by which they may exit? That’s where the literal comes into play.
Noise, noise, noise…a little bit of a struggle, but then…silence, emptiness, cleanliness, purity, clarity.