I’m reading – still- Bessel van der Klok’s The Body. And listening to an excellent playlist. And standing because I sit too much in general. I’ve heard sitting is the new smoking. Like we’re not all going to die at some point.
Random thoughts keep intruding and my attention keeps wandering. Would I have been a good Vegas singer? Is this house high enough if the oceans rise? Do people really “get it” about eating disorders? Especially in the early days when escape is comparatively easy?
I developed bulimia as a repeated behaviour because it promised relief from the hell of my thoughts and feelings. This is the irony of the eating disorder. Before bulimia, I didn’t know from hell. I only thought I did.
I was honest with my kids about drugs. People should be honest about eating disorders.
*I worry a great deal about failing to appropriately cite: hopefully the image suffices.