Posts about, among other things, mental illness, mental health, and recovery.
I’m someone who’s quick with a joke or to light up a smoke. I’m funny, or so I’ve been told. Dry as a desert, but droll. I have a quick wit. It’s a family trait. Too bad it doesn’t come with a kinder heart. We’re wordsmiths, and I rarely struggle with my riposte. Except when it comes to titles. When it comes to naming my … Continue reading Titles are tiring, even autobiographical ones.
The best and worst thing about recovery is the learning. There’s so much of it. I decided shortly before arriving that my last in-patient treatment was going to be the last. It was do-or-die time, not hyperbole considering both the status of my eating disorder and my recent suicide attempt. Attempts screw you up beyond the issues that got you there in the first place. … Continue reading Important lessons get repeated
I don’t have a favourite song or quote. That suggests a singularity I find impossible to embrace. It’s a big world, full of ideas, thoughts, and musical offerings both shallow and profound. Favourites come and go. What we need and are drawn to varies with need and moment. I’m currently learning Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7, 2nd movement for the piano. It’s lovely and will be … Continue reading It speaks to me.
I’m not sure I have a favourite colour, though I always choose green when it comes to game pieces and everyone knows that. My affection for green was born at the house on Valemont. My bedroom there had green carpet. My bedroom there remains the best room I’ve ever had. My mother put wallpaper up that looked like bamboo, with vines and yellow flowers twining … Continue reading I’m blue.
From Famine to Feast. 