Confessional
Mood:  don't ask
Now Playing: Baby, It's Cold Outside -- Zooey Deschanel
I feel like shit today. No particularly horrible event has occurred lately. I'd thought I was going out of town this weekend, and I didn't, but that's hardly a traumatic circumstance. The weekend began with me in the role of social butterfly. On Friday, I went to a jewelry party with no intention of buying. Saturday, after my work shift ended, I hit the beach for a few hours of volleyball with friends. I came home for a shower, and an hour later, I was out the door again, to a happy hour, followed by an private Oktoberfest celebration. Things were going well. I didn't seem like I should be on anti-depressants. And then this morning came. After my shift, I lay in bed reading and watching TV, trying not to focus on what lies just below the surface of my oh-so-cool shell.

I nearly cried to my mother this afternoon. I was suddenly overwhelmed. I want so badly to tell her how imperfect I am. I want her to know that I'm sorry, and I can't even figure out what I'm so sorry for. I swallowed a good cry while pretending everything was okay. Then I went to a meeting.

I'm bulimic. I tend to use the word "recovering" before that word, but recovery isn't really happening so much for me right now. It's at the surface. It's an issue every day. Even when I win the battle, the fact there was a battle at all means that the war is far from over.

There it is. I've admitted there's a problem. I'm getting help. And I feel better for having talked about it, even if it's just to my computer screen.