High

I have given a lot of attention to some pretty painful aspects of my struggle in these past few weeks of my web-log adventure. Come to think of it, are there even any non-painful aspects? I have been thinking about you readers lately, thinking about those of you who understand all too well the battle that defines bulimia, and thinking of those of you who have never really gone down that road before. I have been thinking that you might be thinking, " How in the world does one get so lost in the depths of insecurity that they would resort to such stupid coping mechanisms?". Is that what you are thinking? Are you wondering how so many of us, ladies and gentlemen alike, have found ourselves knelt over toilets, plastic bags, bowls, bushes, whatever, just to dispose of the darkness we have felt? My friends, I am not here to endorse this strange and confusing behavior. I am not here to tell you that it is acceptable or fun or right. I am, however, going to tell you that it was my escape, and as twisted as this sounds, bulimia was my happy place. It gave me control, it gave me power, it gave me hope. Hope? Really? I wish there was a word better suited to what I am trying to say...I guess what I mean is that when I made a bad decision, nutritionally or otherwise, I had such a physical and tangible way to let go of the stress I was feeling, and I felt hope. I felt happy. I felt high.

I tried really hard to find a good definition of the word "high" to share with you, and was amused to find that Google could only come up with High-Definition televisions and cable. But I did find an interesting article on Wikipidia that talks about intoxication, and this is what The Man has to say: "Effects [of intoxication] may include an altered state of consciousness, euphoria, feelings of well-being, relaxation or stress reduction, increased appreciation of humor, music or art, joviality, metacognition and introspection, enhanced recollection (episodic memory), increased sensuality, increased awareness of sensation, creative or philosophical thinking, disruption of linear memory and paranoia or anxiety." Hmm...sounds about right to me! I used to pride myself on the fact that I have never taken drugs and I am nothing but a light-weight, social enjoyer-of-Bud-Light-Lime, but despite my lack of narcotic experience, I still bring a lot to the discussion table on how "nice" it is to feel high. I remember smiling. I remember feeling happy. I remember those few precious moments after an episode where I really, truly believed that I had it all figured it out. And havent we all been there?

The point here is, those years were a mix of my most awesome adventures and experiences (hello, world!) as well as my most destructive behavior. It is hard for me sometimes to separate those memories, but each choice I made, the good and the disastrous, are a part of who I'm meant to be. I felt high whenever I strapped myself into the seat of a moving aircraft. I felt high whenever I threw up. I felt high when I felt someone reach out to me, and I felt high when I reached back. I remember feeling immune to addiction, and have learned the hard way that none of us actually are. But I have also learned abundantly more from my addiction than any text book, any professor, any Discovery Channel program ever could. And at the end of the day, I am thankful for it. For the tools that have helped me learn the true meaning of empathy...for the beautiful people who walked me through.

There's always gonna be another mountain.

I'm always gonna wanna make it move.

Always gonna be an uphill battle.

Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose.

Ain't about how fast I get there.

Ain't about what's waiting on the other side.

It's the climb.