Fighting bulimia, I imagine, is much like battling a morphine addiction. Once you have it, it never truly goes away. Things, events, people, weather, weird things set me on the trajectory. I have got to find a job before I my Facebook 'liking"spree gets any worse.
For the rest of the evening I am going to allow myself to just feel my wounds, experience the hurt from them, and find a way to be okay again. There are just moments in my days, these days, when I no longer feel stable and strong, when I feel terrified and alone. Part of it is that I have all sorts of time to think, part is that I have much to potentially be stressed about.
I'm not ready to leave Denver. I like my life here and it's the first time in my life that I very honestly and truly love my life. Today I found myself with an opportunity to walk down a street I had yet to explore in my neighborhood and decided I am ready to court the idea of a long term commitment to the highlands. It was perfect. Neighborhoods are like small towns all nestled in the efficiency of a large city municipality. It's fantastic. It's exciting to me. I love great neighborhoods. And I love fun reading about Economics. And this is why people think I'm strange. Among other things.
But I'm giving myself this night to grieve the transition I have found myself in. It is okay to feel scared and sad right now. My life is a big question mark. I have a safe place to allow myself to grieve and that is the best gift I can give me, right now.
Crying doesn't indicate that I am weak. Since the dawn of time it has been a sign that I am alive.
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