When we’re dying.

Things sink in at the damndest times. Thoughts I’ve had for years but haven’t felt in my bones percolate under the surface and then for no apparent reason, pop into my consciousness, but with depth and gut-deep understanding attached. They become more than words I say because I’m supposed to believe them even though large chunks of me don’t. I love “ah-ha” moments. That point in time when you finally get it...

An Eating Disorder Journal entry.

I binged and purged last night. It was the fat thoughts. I’ve gained about ten pounds and the weight that is supposed to help me is killing me, or at least that’s what it feels like. Thinner, thinner, thinner is all I think about now. Diet hard, exercise. Forget quitting smoking, forget friends and family. Forget writing, forget recovery, forget life. Forget everything but getting thin, back to bones...

Between five and seven pounds

I wasn’t going to write about my eating disorder today. I have a draft post about my PTSD waiting for revisions. I’ve resisted looking deeply into it to date but had big plans to do so in the somewhat near future. Those plans flew out the window this morning when I put on the jeans that are supposed to be baggy only to find they were less baggy than expected. Just like that, my mental equilibrium got shot to shit...

making chili, an exercise in recovery

I made a vegetarian chili this weekend. I’m not sure how much actual cooking was involved. It was mostly opening cans and dumping them in a crock pot. True, I chopped up the onions and celery and added the spices. Perhaps I’ll call it “cooking-light”. Still, it’s a step in the right direction, a step away from the way I currently eat. Learning to eat in recovery is hard. An eating disorder takes away your ability to interact with food in a “normal” way. Food is either good or bad. Good food is low calorie and a high water content. Bad food is everything else...