Last night I had nightmares. They weren’t about snakes or escaping from a murderer. I was able to walk in them, not like in a real nightmare when you want to flee but your body is stuck in slow motion. They were realizations that sometimes come to me in the middle of the night, a detail about a memory that fills in a gap and makes the past more vivid.  I still have an amazing capacity to find fault in apparently meaningless situations which might explain why my son got so sick. I feel responsible for him, after all I am his mother and my main job is to keep him safe. I’m looking for the rewind button so we can start over again. Maybe, just maybe I could prevent it from happening. I want the spin cycle in my head to stop.

I’ve been doing more research, reading more blogs, medical studies, etc. I want to pinpoint the problem so we can “fix” it. Do the therapy. Get it all out in the open. Talk about it. Make amends. Start over. Move on.

I have learned that his diagnosis is largely genetic. Bulimia isn’t the illness. It’s merely one of the symptoms, the tip of the iceberg so to speak. I can’t fix his DNA. I’ve also learned that therapy will help him/us to learn to live with the illness and that he will be able to lead a normal life as he grows further into adulthood.  Why do we have to wait so long? Why can’t he enjoy his young adult years?

Mornings are the worst time. It’s hard to get out of bed. The idea of showering and drying my hair tires me. Coffee always helps, but that actually requires getting out from under the warm comforter. I don’t want to feel the cold, not even when I desperately need to use the toilet. I’ve even learned how to ignore that physical urge so that I don’t have to actually move. After an hour of needless self-torture I get up and take my shower. My hair even looks presentable. Sometimes when I finish this morning routine I feel like I can start the day. I have to start the day. They are all waiting for me. I will even put on lipstick. My physical appearance will be acceptable. They mustn’t see that the daytime is the worst nightmare of all.

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