Living life with mental illness. Living life post eating disorder. Living life.
I’m feeling better on the depression front. Depression ends much of life’s momentum when it’s in the ascendancy so it’s good that it ebbs and flows. And since, to paraphrase the immortal Timmy, it’s currently flocking the other way, I’m writing again. When I can get a word in edgewise. Depression’s wane gives my eating... Continue Reading →
This piece talks about suicide which may trigger some. Be mindful. I have a pink leather Kate Spade purse I rarely use. Never use. I’m going to keep it anyway. For one thing, it sparks joy. It’s too small for my wallet, too casual for an evening bag, and too lush to toss into a... Continue Reading →
It’s not that I’ve not been writing. It’s that I hate every word and send my attempts to the electronic paper shredder in the sky. All of it was meandering crap I couldn’t bear to look at. Pointlessly pointless. Unfortunately, regular deleting has a deleterious effect on productivity. New plan. No deleting. Post the less... Continue Reading →
I count. Not all the time, but not infrequently enough for the behaviour to surprise me when I notice. At least I count in my head most of the time. Doing that type of thing out loud brings questions I prefer not to answer. Ditto to all the oddities I sometimes exhibit – perhaps my... Continue Reading →
From Famine to Feast. 