Dear Fred, I'm Bulimic
I know it's been a while since I talked to you directly. It seems as though I only ever do when I'm in need of you, when I can't go to anyone, for help. That is very selfish of me, and I'm sorry.
But I know, every time I'm lying on my bedroom floor weeping every bead of moisture I own through my eyes, every time I'm in the bathroom staring at my reflection staring into me, every time I lose place of myself or sight of the life I own and deserve, you say to me each time, in your own silent sort of way; that it's ok, and reaffirm that these reasons are why you are here for me.
1. (Fred says)I love you, Lisa.
2. You deserve my help.
3. I will always be here for you.
And I would cry because I'd know that no-one could ever live up to such an example of perfection and all I'd ever need in a person. And I would cry because I knew that nothing I could give him would match that which he had always given me.
And he would sit near me with his ever lingering presence that felt like a safety blanket that warmly bundled ever single piece of you, and his silent knowing would be all you'd need for comfort.
And so that's how our closest encounters usually are to me. Treasured things, moments where you are my angel and guardian and saviour. Though you are always with me, looking over me, I know you must have your own freedom to do and wander where you wish and I respect that highly and only wish for you to be happy.
So for all these things, and all these years, I want to say thank you.
Thank you, Fred.
I love you.
Join in and write your own page! It's easy to do. How? Simply click here to return to bulimic letter.