|Via Wiki Commons|
Yesterday, I hit a breaking point. As I sat on the couch, eating like an apocolypse was coming, I realized something. I didn't care. Steve asked me "What about all that hard work?" I shook my head, it didn't matter. At that point, I realized that I had hit bottom and hard.
I knew that if I wanted to go back down the same road I had just come from, that I could just keep on doing what I was doing. Not caring. But, if I wanted to finally get a handle on things, finally shut my fat girl up for good and actually win this war, then I was going to have to do something drastic.
So, I called a therapist. Yes, there I said it, I am in therapy now for my eating disorder. I spoke to my therapist for over an hour on the phone today. I told her that I didn't know why I was calling her, that I was certain that if I just got my head back into things, that I could get a grip on my eating. She listened quietly while I listed all the reasons why therapy wasn't for me. She listened to me say that I can do this on my own. When there was break in my rambling she asked me "So, why did you call me?" I was silent. In my heart I knew why I called her. But my head didn't want to admit that I was that flawed. Finally I whispered "I need help."
Admiting that I need help, that this is bigger than me was hard. I don't like admiting that I need help. I have this perception of what I should be. And needed to seek help for an eating disorder is not in that perception.
We covered a lot of ground during our conversation today. I felt raw and exposed. But, I also felt good. I felt new. A glimmer of hope returned.
It's okay to admit that you need help. Sometimes life is bigger than us. It doesn't mean I am weak. It doesn't mean that I am any less of a person.
It simply means...