It's amazing how a phone call and a nice long cold shower, complete with ultimate face and body pampering, can do wonders for the mind and soul.

So I bet you're wondering what the previous outburst was for about, right blogger? Well. I was. I was doing some reading online and came across this article on a bulimic girl who was giving a talk about her illness to her church members, and she spoke about how she was an exercise bulimic. So naturally I googled it, and the more I read, the more I realized how much it made sense, in terms of what I've been going through. The symptoms, I mean. I'm not going to type it out here, because it's painful enough having to read it the first time round.

Then it hit me. That I may be suffering from what is called "exercise bulimia". Of course its not a definite diagnosis, given I've diagnosed myself with polycystic ovarion syndrome before, but this one is different.

Well I just snapped. And started crying. Not sobs. But huge "tears flowing nonstop" wails til my jaw hurt, for some strange reason. Then I figured that right there and then, I had to talk to someone. I needed to talk to someone.

So I grabbed the portable house phone and shut myself in my room and started calling some friends whom I thought I could talk to. But no one answered. Literally. I think I must have called like 5 or 6 friends, hoping to just release a floodgate. No one answered my silent call of distress. Maybe it was because my house number is an unlisted one, but right there and then, I felt so truly alone. And let me tell you something, its not a pretty feeling. I don't wish that on anyone - what I felt when no one answered my calls. It was like, the world had exploded around me, like a deserted warzone to which I am the only survivor.

I didn't what to do, or what I should do. Sort of like how Jennifer Connely threw her glass of water at the mirror in A Beautiful Mind when she realized that John Nash's schizophrenia was straining their marriage and after months and months of silent suffering, she just snapped and cried because she doesn't know what else she has to do to make things right.

So I just threw down the phone and sobbed nonstop for another 5 minutes or so, reflecting on, well, what a disgusting person I am for what I had done (of which I shall not go into detail).

Then I realized I forgot to call Kesh. And thankfully, she was there. And the moment I opened my mouth and started telling her my story, I started sobbing all over again, with my words coming out in choked spasms. I was so ashamed of myself for admitting this disgusting behavior of mine. My disorder, I mean. But I needed to tell someone.

Thank God for Kesh. Because Kesh just listened silently and patiently as I tried in vain to explain my situation, despite the constant choking and hiccups. And then she said the magic words "Would you like me to pray for you?"

And I just whispered, "Yes, please.", because at the point of time, all I could think of was how much I wanted someone to take this terrible burden off my shoulders just for a few moments, and who better to do that than God Himself?

So Kesh prayed for me and I just lay on the bed with my palms raised, imagining that God was coming down and sucking out all the negative emotions and healing me mentally, spiritually and emotionally. It may sound silly to you, but I'm crying all over again as I related this to you. Maybe you understand where I'm coming from, but I don't expect you to, because you've never had to fully battle with your self esteem and body image for 4 years. The struggle of having to maintain a confident and strong face whilst deep down inside, I'm already broken into so many pieces, it'll take a long time just to put half of me together all over again and let the scars of the cracks fade. So you see, I'm not a strong person at all. I'm suffering. And let you tell you something, its so incredibly simple for someone to just say "Don't do this." Well don't you think I know that?! I try! I try damn it. I'm doing it. And it backfires. And yes, I get up and go again and succeed. Setbacks occur. I accept that. Sometimes I get through some setbacks, but when I don't, this is what happens. I crumble.

Anyhow, Kesh prayed for me. And I just felt better after that. Not fully, but much calmer and reposed as before, when I was so emotionally distressed. I think that there comes when a time when people like me simply turn to religion to help them ease their worries when everything seems to be too much to handle. Maybe it won't solve the problem, but the knowledge that their burdens are place on someone'e else shoulders - one who won't judge or complain - for even a mere 5 minutes, is enough to make them more at ease and composed.

I suspect that there isn't anyone else who understands the full extent of my...problems as much as Kesh does. Sure she may use religion to advice me, but you know what, it makes me feel so much better. And I'm so thankful that she's there for me, thankful that God put her here for me to turn to when my life comes crashing down. Kesh might very well be my own pastor!

So after our talk, I went on the treadmill for a bit to ease my anxiety, and took a long shower, with compliments of luxurious body scrubs of the Dead Sea that my dad brought back when he was on a business trip to the Middle East. So I lathered my entire body with sea salt scrub and imagined that I was scrubbing away all my anxieties and worries. Then I slapped on a facial mask and watched my all time favourite re-runs of The Nanny.

Like I said, it amazing how much luxurious pampering can do for you. I should do this more often.

Did I mention that I'm finding Selena Gomez's Love You Like a Love Song is getting to be quite addictive? And Taylor Swift's Haunted. The first half anyway. And Kesha's Sleazy, but maybe its because its the audition song for Street Jazz and its now ingrained in my head.

I wonder if I'll ever recover. I texted my mother about one of the symptoms I've been having. Well, its been bothering me for a while and she knows about it. But she says if its bugs me, she'll accompany me to our family doctor. And I felt so relieved to know that she was chastising me. As much as I'm frightened of what my mother might think of me if she were to know I might be an exercise bulimic, I still want her with me because she always makes things right for me, irregardless of what she does.