Falling

I woke up yesterday morning, and I was still in Arizona. I hate that some days, because it reminds me that I'm still sick, though I'm trying to get well. I woke up and remembered the thing I was trying to forget. I binged and purged in the early, early hours of the morning. I wanted to forget it, pretend it didn't happen and I didn't fall into my disease once again.
It had been about four weeks since I last did it. I was reaching my threshold of the longest time I've been without it, and the urges were getting stronger, stronger and louder. I don't understand why I gave in. I feel like a failure. I know it's not failing but it feels that way. it's hard for me to pick myself up after a fall like that. Extreme thinking tells me to just throw my recovery in the trash and do it again, and again, to wallow in my shame and misery and then numb it off with binging and purging. It tells me I'm a worthless failure, that my recovery is a lie.
I know this thinking is the real lie, but it's enticing nonetheless. It would be so easy to give up and listen again. I can't. I won't. I've come too far and I know too much of the truth to be happily, numbly blind again. I can pick myself up from this fall and begin again.