Can't Send me to Rehab

When a bulimic relapses it's about as glorious as a heroin addict relapsing. The bathroom floor is about as fantastic as an alley or abandoned house. The toilet is about as clean as a pre-used needle. In both cases, fingers, man's tools, being used against him. But then there's NA and if a drug addict can swallow pride and ask for help, they have a place to go where people understand their struggle. All I have is an empty, dark dorm room. The tears, they too come from the same place of shame.

I thought that being in a new environment would not shock me back into this but it has.

I woke up with a stomach that was completely empty, burning, aching, feeling twisted and knotted. I'm so afraid to eat, to feel food in my stomach because I don't know what I'll do this time. This is all I can stomach for now:
Clean, simple, light on the stomach.
Bite by bite, I try to trust myself again.

I don't have NA or AA. I have this blog. This is my confession, my guilt.