Author: Michelle
I've lived with mental illness my whole life. I walk hand-in-hand with my neuroses these days, and sometimes I write about what that's like for me. I prefer the peaceful coexistence of détente to the open warfare of the past.
I'm also in recovery from an eating disorder that ate decades of my life, pun intended. It's been hard: recovery is very much a walk through hell - the rainbows, puppies, and chocolate fountains come later - but it's worth it. Recovery lets you have the life the eating disorder promises and lies about 💜
Solo Celebrating.
I’ve killed this piece three times so far. I think the razing of yesterday’s ramblings on guilt was the last big gutting. But really, it was trite. Been there, done that. I wanted to like the paragraphs I wrote on our snow day but I don’t write descriptive dialogue very well: my imagery was stilted and hackneyed and didn’t do the juncos justice. It, too, … Continue reading Solo Celebrating.
Annoying numbers and hard-boiled eggs.
I like numbers, save for those found in high-level cosmology and physics. And that’s really a jealousy issue: I hate that I don’t speak the language. I stopped my math education at university, year one. I can mostly understand the lectures but the papers and texts might as well be Greek. Which they also use. An affection for numbers is a good thing to have: … Continue reading Annoying numbers and hard-boiled eggs.
A smashed staple gun.
In case I didn’t mention it, I dropped one of my medications. In coordination with my doctors: I didn’t go rogue. If it turns out I did mention it, welcome to the update. * There’s been some good. The dread that accompanied the pill-taking is gone. I didn’t realize how heavy the burden had become until it was lifted. But good girls don’t complain. I’m … Continue reading A smashed staple gun.
From Famine to Feast 