At the moment I am having bulimia episodes, which never happened in at least 10 years.
What is the matter? Well, I am in the process if looking at the feeling of suffering right in the eyes and it hurts.
I am aware that bulimia is only a coping strategy as alcohol is.
I try to discover why it hurts so much. That man who left me? Not even him.
He only pressed on an already open wound in me: the fear of being loved then left. This is exactly what happened.
It was my biggest fear and it happened.
I am still alive, I can get over it.
What is underneath that grief?
The guilt and the feeling of not deserving love nor happiness, of having been a bad child, of not being good enough in general.
Now I tell myself that it is a big step to look at pain in its eyes instead of totally numbing myself.
Each day I can choose differently.