The Double Life I live as an Alcoholic and Bulimic in Recovery.

Bending over the sink, rinsing the remnants of vomit out of my mouth, I tried to decide whether or not I felt empty enough to stop. As always, I retreated from the bathroom, feeling physically and emotionally drained. Just a few years into my career, finally getting my life on track, and I already wanted out. I wanted to take my skinny self out into the woods and scream at the mountains. It wasn’t supposed to be like this…

It was hard to face the mess I’d left in the kitchen, and even harder to rationalize why I had done what I had done, again. Deteriorated, and full of shame, I tossed empty cartons and wrappers of various consumed food items into the garbage, threw left-over pizza crusts into the sink, and wiped the counter. The last thing I wanted was to wake up the next morning with bleak reminders of another restless night. If I could get rid of the evidence, maybe I could start the next day anew. 

But every day it’s there: contemplate – plan – try to avoid -execute = hang my head in shame and vow never to do it again.

If you were to meet me, you’d never know that I am a 31 year old bulimic and recovering alcoholic with a criminal record. I am also a teacher, writer, mountaineer, wife, and dog mom.

I imagine, dear reader, that you too, have an outer shell that you sport around others. No matter what your struggle, the normalcy and coolness with which your portray yourself will still make me envy everything about you, because like me,  you are a master of camouflage:

At work, I greet my students and parents the same way any other eager, but slightly worn out teacher might. I attend interviews and personal development sessions dressed casually and conservatively. I meet with friends on weekends for cross country skiing and hiking, and dutifully attend my AA meetings. Few people know I spent two months in a treatment centre, and that I’ve been arrested twice for drinking and driving, or that most nights, when I am trying to plan the  next day’s lesson, I am fighting the pattern: contemplate, plan, execute, hang head in shame vowing to never do it again. I am constantly numbing a hole in my soul that I can’t quite put my finger on. 

I function, on a daily basis, wearing this camouflage. I am often terrified about what would happen, or what others might think, if they really knew my past, and how I struggle today. But I am also itching to share my experiences so that I can take off the mask of bravery. I know that there are others out there too, who function in similar ways. I am writing to tell you that I see you. I hear you. I know you. You are not alone.

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