In the first few weeks after my decision to heal, I had a very painful realization: I was not going to be able to heal alone; I needed help. Asking someone else for help, until recently, was tantamount to showing weakness, vulnerability and perhaps even stupidity. But I knew inside that if I didn't reach out, if I didn't try, I'd never be able to start the healing process.

My first step was to call Overeaters Anonymous. It was agonizing. I stalled, I cried, I tried to rationalize that I could stop throwing up without help this time, I didn't need anyone's help, I could do it alone.

Then it hit me; I had been vowing to stop throwing up, vowing to stop binging and vowing that it was going to change for 15 years. How likely was it that this was the one time I would be able to do it alone? When I thought about the fact that I had been unable to change anything in almost two decades…I was in the same boat…I realized that maybe, just maybe, I DID need help, and a lot of it.

Here is my journal from the day I called:

Aug 2
How do I pick up the phone and dial? I NEED to go to a stupid support group meeting, I need help. I hate to admit needing help to do anything, but I need help, writing that sentence is like chewing glass. I haven't been able to make an ounce of consistent progress on getting better in 17 years, I obviously need help. This is so hard. I don't want to do this. Why won't it just go away? Why can't I be like Samantha and just wiggle my nose? I mean, really, I decided to write this damn book but I didn't realize it was going to eat my soul in the process. What a huge, gargantuous thing this is for me. It's colossal. Last night I was trying to find some paper to start writing in and I realized I have all these journals that I start and don't keep going because writing what I think and feel is just too painful, then I tear out the pages and start over again, kinda like all the diets I start over and over. The next journal will be perfect, I'll write everyday. I don't seem to want to be alive if I'm not perfect. Why the need to be perfect? Quit stalling. Call the number. Dial, beep, beep, beep…

a few hours later - no calling yet…

I feel so empty, like a void, or a black hole. Why do I need someone else to make me feel wanted, loved, important? Because I don't want, love or care enough about myself. I just want to wrap up in someone else and lose myself, lose myself because I hate who I am most of the time. So I don't have to feel alone. I have so many people around me so much of the time, so many people vying to be my friend, and all I feel is alone. I want someone else so I don't have to feel…anything, no pain or hurt. So I don't have to see myself for who I am, or am not, or wish I was. I just want to forget me. Why do I hate myself so much? When will it end? When will I be able to love myself, even just a little? That's all I want - really - to love ME. Great, here come the rivers of tears. Please, I just want it all to stop. Make this call, you can do it, just call them, they are there to help you, somebody has to right now...somebody has to…

As soon as I got off the phone with the OA representative I broke down and started sobbing. I felt like something inside of me was dying. I wasn't sure I wanted to let go of my whole way of life, my way of coping, my way of thinking and acting. I knew I was unhealthy, but what would happen when I let go, who would I be if I weren't bulimic? I didn't know the answer and I was scared as hell to start the journey to find the answers. I wanted to stay stuck in my comfortable, unhealthy way of life and after I stopped crying I started hating myself for even thinking about changing it.

The first meeting was the hardest, but it also made me realize I wasn't alone. There were people from all over the city in all shapes and sizes fighting the same fight I was, some were winning and some were still struggling but these people were at least trying, which is what I was starting to do too.

After the meeting I cried. I cried with fear of the unknown, I cried because I was changing and mostly I cried from relief, the relief that maybe this time was different, maybe this time I could do it, maybe this time I could heal.