In Good Company

Tonight I had drinks with an old friend. We’ve known each other since middle school…13 years. More than half my life. Wow. I’m not sure where along the way we became good friends. Great friends. Someone I could confide in. Someone I talk to on a very regular basis and sincerely miss when I don’t know what’s going on in his life.

And tonight he looked at me and instantly knew something was wrong. Well, he also knew that I hadn’t made it home for Christmas because I was still doing (am still doing) research papers. But he said he could hear the despair in my voice when he talked to me last week. I was moved to tears but I told him we couldn’t talk about it. Not then. But that I would talk to him about it all. I just didn’t need to burst into tears at the cheesecake factory. I probably should have skipped that daiquiri...not to be restrictive. But just because alcohol isn't smart for what I'm dealing with right now. But whatever.

it’s somewhat amusing, because I swear a month ago I could have just plainly told him everything and felt absolutely nothing. Gotta love that zoloft. And now…every time I think about what has become of my life I start to tear up. And I’m was not sitting there intending to be depressing…but I haven’t seen this friend in a year. Since last Christmas when we ALL got together for dinner at the same restaurant we went to nearly every weekend in high school. So small townish of us, isn't it? This time, fortunately, it was just us two, which was good. It was nice. I let him do most of the talking because I felt like I had nothing really to talk about. And that's another thing that's not me. Well, not this new recovery-focused me. I'm a talker.

But what could I say? I’m depressed. I’m bulimic. I’m a loser. I hate my life. Some days I wake up and I just don’t care about anything at all and that’s when I’m taking my meds. And then, oh God…lately. It’s been even worse.

But he saw me. I didn't need to say any of that. Well, I said the depressed part. But he just let me know that he saw me...saw that I was in trouble and wanted me to know that even with his busy busy schedule, he'd be willing to pencil me in for any breakdowns as long as I could give him two days notice.

And for that I truly love him more than I realized. Because I walk around this house where my family lives and they look at me everyday and they never see me. I walk around this house falling apart. Holding it together? Not at all. I don’t think it’s possible for anyone to look at me and think she’s got it together. And they don’t say a word. A daughter doesn’t come home for the holidays, the daughter who’s always obsessed with trying to make it the perfect holiday for everyone, and no one asks any real questions. No one tells me it’s okay for me to have a meltdown in their arms. And that hurts. It aches. It’s the same feeling I get when I drink hot tea and I still feel cold inside. This chilling pain around my heart, that I feel flowing through my veins, when it’s not cold but I’m freezing inside. When I’m sitting in a hot steaming bath to warm up my insides but I still feel it.

I can’t make it alone through recovery. I know that. And I know I have my therapist. And I know I have my sponsor. And I know I have you guys. And I know I have my friends. Not that I’ll have too many of those after the holidays have passed and I'm back at school. But I need my family. For this one thing and they can’t be there for me. The one thing I want is to be better, for our entire family to be better. But I can’t have that.

And so it’s hard to try to depend on other people when you’ve been let down so much by people who are supposed to love you the most in the world. It’s hard to try to let those walls down and tell them what’s really going through your head. Because I think my parents have known for a while that I’m in trouble. I think they’ve known and ignored it. Ignored me. I don’t believe my mother when she says she had no idea. She was worried six months after the bulimia started. She was making comments to my father back then...who assured her that I was NOT anorexic. That at a size 6, he wished I WERE anorexic. Because that's better than being over weight. Because food has been missing for YEARS. Because they've seen the cookie packages, candy wrappers, dental bills for YEARS and have said nothing but, "You're fat. Lose weight. No one will marry you. Lose weight. You'd be pretty if you lost weight. I could never get THAT big. You're not my daughter. My daughter wouldn't have thighs like that."

People are just like me. Imperfect. They’ll let you down. And it’ll hurt like hell. And if they know you…if they love you…if you’ve let them in, then they can get under your skin and make the pain unbelievable. And not just by the things they do, but by the things they don’t do.

My friend really wanted to understand what had happened this year that had made me this way. School? Work? And I had to tell him that honestly, this was a great academic year. I loved my classes and professors. Sure, I had trouble getting out of bed to get to class which should have been a sign in the beginning that I was headed into this valley. That the work wasn’t too hard. I was actually enjoying it. That the second year of law school is unbelievably so much better than the first that it actually seems possible to do this and enjoy it. I had to look my friend in the eye and then look away because the problem is me.

And he was so concerned and he didn’t know what to say, especially since we were in public. And it was awkward for him I know because he really wanted to understand. To help. But I told him I was getting help. I told him, no friend. I’m not okay. But I’m getting help. And I will be okay. I just wasn’t so sure that I meant it. I just knew he really needed to hear it. But I need to hear it sometimes too. I need to believe it.

I ate a lot today. Binged at dinner. Came home after drinks with the friend feeling like I'd left so much unsaid. Unsure about whether to call Shish. Feeling empty. Insecure. Guilty because life isn't SO bad and I'm so negative and I dont make it any easier. I headed for the frig and closed it. I'm still full from the dinner binge. It was never painful I just knew based on the quantity that I ate way too much. But I didn't purge anything...and I didn't. I thought about it, but then I busied myself with stuff to do so the urge would pass.

And so today, I'm thankful that I didn't purge. That I'll wake up tomorrow without feeling the shame of binging and purging. Of binging perhaps...but of not making an even graver decision and purging. I'm thankful of old friends who maybe have it easier of seeing the pain in someone's eyes when they only see them once a year. Maybe it makes you take a harder look. They always see that people fail to see what's right in their face. There must be some truth in that. I'm thankful that I still want to be recovered...that although I sometimes think its hopeless and feel like I'll always be like this, that my heart really wants to believe and so I should give it a try until my heart gives out. And I'm thankful for this community...that I can come here at 2 am and write and know that someone's there. That you see me...and unlike my friend...you really do understand.