Between five and seven pounds

I wasn’t going to write about my eating disorder today. I have a draft post about my PTSD waiting for revisions. I’ve resisted looking deeply into it to date but had big plans to do so in the somewhat near future. Those plans flew out the window this morning when I put on the jeans that are supposed to be baggy only to find they were less baggy than expected. Just like that, my mental equilibrium got shot to shit...

It’s a bad day, not a bad life.

Dark days. We all have them, the depressed and neurotypical alike. The difference, I think, is in how we respond. Days that suck, days that make us think we shouldn’t have bothered getting up happen to everyone. Days when the milk is sour, so no cereal, and the car maintenance light comes on and you can’t afford repairs, and the corner store is out of diet Pepsi, and work is hellish, and you get home to find the cat vomited all over the carpet in the front hall. Those kinds of days.

Feelings come first.

I have trouble with my thoughts. I don’t like a lot of them. They’re harsh, critical, and disturbing. They make me feel bad; they make me afraid. Except they don’t. I’ve realized that I have it backwards. It’s the feelings that come first. Feelings rise up and inspire the thoughts which then the amplify the problematic feelings, creating more problematic thoughts, and so on. It’s a vicious cycle...

In search of a steady state.

I loved the idea of homeostasis when it was first introduced in grade eight biology. It is as follows: the tendency toward a relatively stable equilibrium between interdependent elements, especially as maintained by physiological processes. That definition, however, hurts the brain. I’m reasonably certain that it was expressed differently to me when I was thirteen. To the best of my recollection, the definition was simple. The process of homeostasis is the process of maintaining a steady state. I want that...