An eating disorder is like a mushroom. What you see is only a piece: the interesting stuff happens below the surface. [i] It would be better if an eating disorder was like a parfait. Everybody loves parfait. And while my bulimia hides its secrets like a fairy ring, it lives and dies by rules. The list of things you can’t do is not only legion … Continue reading What if you could?
I don’t think my hippocampus is back online yet. They get testy, and will sometimes go on strike when the world is stressful and the hits won’t stop coming. I’ve had so many hits, my soul probably looks like a patchwork quilt of impact craters. On the bright side, I didn’t fall back on old and harmful patterns of coping. Bad habits can be broken. … Continue reading Recovery isn’t a race.
I was walking to the corner store to buy candy with my meagre allowance one bright summer morning, skipping cracks because who wants a mother with a broken back, and when I looked up, I was fifty-two. There’s a lifetime in the gap, but I forget all too often the history in my history, focusing only on the ugly bits, which, excluding the eating disorder … Continue reading Criticism or celebration?
I think I have writer’s block. We’ll go with that, anyway. I write, I just hate every bit of what I produce. It’s stilted and never what I’m trying to say. The Recycle Bin on my desktop is getting a workout. (A brief pause as I change the channel on the background noise. “Dr. Phil” is not something I’m willing to tolerate.) Maybe I’m overwhelmed. … Continue reading 250 words about writer’s block.
From Famine to Feast. 