debigirl's Journal

I am 39, and yet here I am carrying my 9 year old's pain. It's as if something broke and I don't know how to fix it. I've done therapy for atleast a dozen years, and I may need it for a dozen more. I am here, or she is me, anyhow, we are siamese twins.
I try to tell her she is safe now. That I will always feed her and keep her safe. I don't think she believes me. I have put her in very unsafe places.
She doesn't want to be seen, to be known. It's true if your fat not so many men look at you. But there are still a good number that do.
She doesn't want me to have friends. They could hurt you. Lonely sucks, but lonely is safe.
Safe is all she cares about. And swallow all the pain. The lonelyness, the fear. Swallow everything, push it down with the food.
I have obstained. Got down to just over eating (as opposed to binging) once or twice a week. But my life has to be real stable. I have to be able to let someone in, have someone care, believe in something beyond tomorrow.