Even when I was young, Sunday evenings always seemed a little sad to me. I never really understood why. . . I guess the weekend has past and the gearing up for a new week takes a little extra energy. I think that's especially true for me in the winter.
Last year, I opted out of the month of December by going to treatment in Coconut Creek, Florida. Most of the days there were in the 80s with lots of sunshine. It was easy to forget that it was Christmastime. I wonder if that's why most treatment centers are where it's warm?
Anyway, tonight I feel a little blue-er than normal for a Sunday evening. Carly came home again for the weekend, and I know that Monday morning brings a phone call back to my attorney to sort out Carly's tuition. I know that I need to finalize the kids' health insurance. I know I need to make an appointment for the chiropractor. Monday's tend to start with lists and errands, both of which I hate.
Still, tonight is even different from all of that. I think I'm tired from e.d. tonight. I do well for several weeks, then I just get tired of fighting it. The voice that says I'm too fat, that I'm being selfish taking good care of myself, that I'm spending too much time and money on therapy, is always near, or so it seems. I heard through the grapevine that four friends from Renfrew have relapsed. Two are hospitalized and two are back in treatment. Sometimes I wonder if I'm kidding myself into thinking that complete recovery is possible. Will I ever be recovered or will I forever be in recovery? Sounds like purgatory. But I guess even purgatory is better than hell.
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