Learning How to Swim

By that point, I was swimming around and learning new strokes.  I would eat more myself, so that she wouldn't have as much to eat.  I became an expert in searching out hiding places (this would come in handy when the alcohol took over) I made up excuses to the extent that I was starting to believe them, myself.  And through all of that, I was still sure this would all go away, and things would be back to normal.  But they didn't.  It was so bad that at one point, she clogged the drain, and I had to have a plumber in to unclog it.  He asked if we had a garbage disposal.  (We didn't)  We were watching an episode of Intervention one night, and it was about a girl suffering from bulimia.  I cried through the whole thing.  I had no idea it was like that, even though I was living through it myself.  Denial can be such a strong cloaking device.  It was then that we both looked at us, though the distortion of tears, and she asked for help.  I started making calls.  I ended up calling the one shown on Intervention.  Unfortunately, my insurance company didn't feel that she needed to go there, so I had to pay out of pocket (I took out a loan).  Remuda, the place I sent her, did help reduce some of the fee for me, so I'm grateful for that.  She stayed there for 6 weeks.  When she returned, much healthier both mentally and physically, things weren't perfect, but she did eventually get a handle on it, and as of this writing, is still in recovery from that.