Let these words become my house...

I got help today.

After nearly a year of denial, I finally submit to the hard realization that I am as sick now as I have ever been. My life looks different now - I live in a different state, have a different job, and live at home with my family. But despite the differences, the voices in my head are no quieter, and I am still terrified to consume anything. I obsess over apples and devour entire containers of ice cream in maddened hunger and despair.

I'm tired of fighting.

But I'm also tired to pretending that I have no problem. I'm fed up with the secrets and lying and "double life." I'm exhausted from trying to be the perfect teacher, student, coworker, and athlete... all the while trying desperately to cover up the anorexic and bulimic thinking and behavior that dominates nearly all of my waking hours.

I'm lonely. I don't want to talk with my family - somehow it makes it worse. So I told my doctor. Who held me while I cried, and then gave me medicine to help me calm down and handle the bottled anxiety. And today I went to a support group - and found several counselors who seem to at least know where to begin.

Just talking about my struggle - NAMING IT - and listening while others names their own had enormous power. I feel alone and crazy... every day. But at this place, there is space open all the time for people - just like me - to come and try to overcome the disease that has crawled into each and everyone of us.

When I left, one of the therapists hugged me. She said, "I survived an eating disorder. It's why I now do what I do. You seem ready. I know you can survive, too."

Dear Lord, let this be true. I am terrified, but also filled with a radical hope that makes me want to utter the words "I can get better." Maybe. I think I want to try again.

Let these words become my house. As Hafiz says, "The words we speak become the house we live in." So let this be my house. Of hope. Blindly... but boldly.