Every time I start a sentence it sounds completely whiny and melodramatic and that's really not how I'm feeling right now. I'm exhausted. Completely and totally. And the kicker? I'm sleeping regularly. And for long periods of time. So maybe I'm emotionally exhausted. Maybe.
I've been kicking ass at work. My non-profit roots have reared their martyr-like head again and I'm helping out with some philanthropic initiatives at work. I'm also getting my team whipped into shape and helping out with some pretty large new clients. I feel confident and together and powerful. Then I go home.
Maybe it's the 90-day rule. I've gone nearly three months without purging, and with only a few binge-eating episodes during that span. I feel like I'm about to jump out of my skin. I can't sit, stand, or lay down. I eat, but I feel gross and helpless afterwards, regardless of the type or quantity of food I had. I hate that I'm feeling this way again because it's just so old and done and I'm so over it. But I'm not really over it because I keep reliving it. I want so badly to make it to three months. I feel like that might be what breaks me - I've never, in the last six years made it 90 days without purging. I want to know how that tastes and how it looks on me.
The other shitty thing that I'm freaked about is this weekend. My roommate and I were supposed to do some serious shopping for our apartment, but she's decided to go home this weekend. Which leaves me with, the exception of a few hours, a clear schedule. I feel trapped and it's only Tuesday.
My church started this new podcast series called "Traction." My pastor recommends that I listen to it and go for a walk. So tomorrow, I'm getting up early to find my Traction. Or maybe just a tread.
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