(I have plans to write things relevant and recent. I have notes on my desk and thoughts in my head. I jotted something down in my journal the other day, aided by my decision to toss the diary I’d started but couldn’t love. Happiness is a spiral binding, at least when it comes to me and my notebooks.
Eating disorders are hell. Recovery is also hell; it takes a long time before you start to believe it might be worth it. It took a long time for me to believe it might be worth it. I’m mostly sold, though I still love decreasing flesh and prominent bones a little too much. The difference is that yesterday, upon noticing my gaunt face, I added a bowl of sherbet to dinner instead of thirty minutes on the treadmill.
Though there was some buyer’s remorse this morning.
It’s interesting, navigating grief and stress in a mostly sober fashion. I’m pretty sure I don’t like it.)
i see you (february 15, 2017) i see you. i can see it in your face, in the muscles that line your jaw, the way your teeth sit loosely in your gums. i can see it in your eyes, in that odd combination of emptiness and pain. i see it in the expression that crosses your face when you think nobody’s watching. i don’t need to see jutting collarbones or the tendons tracing your forearms. i knew before i saw your ribs pushing at your skin, before light shone through that thigh gap. like speaks to like, and we are of a type, you and i. i see you, even as we are both unseen.
From Famine to Feast. 
It’s pretty impressive that you’re managing to maintain recovery with all you’re having to deal with now ❤️
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Thank you. I forgot to think about that. How odd.
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I also start journals, tear out pages, throw them across the room… and then buy another one, just to repeat this frustrating cycle. For me, it’s because:
a) I can’t stand my handwriting. People compliment me all the time on how “beautiful” it is; but to me, it screams of imperfections — squiggles here and there from my tremors, little ink blots from uncooperative pen nubs, etc.
b) My desire to journal is strongest in the midst of dark thoughts… and when I return to them, they are too ugly to look at.
You are far wiser than I, Lovely Lady. I keep buying the bound journals (versus the spirals) and hoping for different results. Guess I am the living embodiment of the definition of “insanity”, after all. 🤦🏻♀️
P.S. I can’t wait until you’re writing again, in all your hilarious glory!
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I feel your handwriting pain. Such is the curse of perfectionism ❤️
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A beautiful piece. Very touching, filled with so much emotion.
I don’t mind spiral binding but it’s not my favorite. I like that all the pages are free but holding such on my knees or hands can be painful.
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