Hotel rooms are dangerous places.

Reblog: Hotel rooms are dangerous places.

I don’t forget my eating disorder because it’s been a part of my life for decades. And yet, I do forget some things.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been miserable enough to pursue the behaviours I talked about here. It’s funny: day-to-day, we think nothing changes, and yet, when we look back once significant time has passed, the differences are profound.

From Famine to Feast.

(November 12, 2017)

Trigger warning: blunt discussion of eating disorder behaviors.

My history with hotel rooms is complicated. They’re great when I’m on vacation with others. I have other hotel stories in my past, however.

I don’t like revisiting my past, but I’m learning that if I don’t own it, forgive myself for it, and let it go, I’ll get pulled back into the pit. You have to be careful and diligent in recovery – eating disorders are determined opponents, and they want to stay.

I was always sure the hotel reception staff knew something was up when I walked into a lobby. I think we call that projecting? It felt like people were staring at me. It seemed to me that everyone knew why I was there and thought me disgusting. The likely truth is they neither knew nor cared. I’m pretty sure no one would’ve guessed “bingeing and…

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Eggshells & darker nights.

unbolt me

a slip of flame wags like a red-tailed fox
o’er candlewick sill in the moonlight box
sets ghost birds aflight in lucent flocks
o’er vespertine forest and druidic rocks

the road yonder runs thither throughout the ages
its footprints tell the story of hatchling sages
from trees bedangled with their birthing cages
open, in spirals, zig-zagging in stages

no questions, no answers, just a mystery play
of knotted roots, weaved wood and branching splay
and the thin, shrill cry of a sleepless jay
from dusk covered verdure and vertebrae

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