Having found another new and unusual way for bulimia to injure my body I finally went to see my GP this morning. (I've spasmed my jaw and/or throat apparently and it will sort itself out with few painkillers.)
Yet again I have had to go and admit defeat - this illness is not going away. Sure in the last 26 years I've found ways to live with it - sometimes we are even comfortable with each other. It is after all my coping mechanism; the thing that stands between me and the depression and anxiety which threatens to over whelm me at every opportunity. But it is getting harder and harder to ignore the damage it is doing to me and if I'm honest it hardly holds the depression/anxiety at bay these days.
You'd think it would be easy to let it go really but it isn't. It's so hard. I am so scared at the prospect of being refered on, of having to talk to someone, of having to be treated. Suppose they were successful? Suppose they made it go away? Who would I be without it? I really don't remember life without it. I was a child then, I'm a middle aged woman now. I cannot imagine life without it. Yet the thought of going on with it is equally unimaginable. I feel so torn and so alone. I can't imagine going through all this again.