(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 … Continue reading i see you.
Trigger warning: it’s long. Also, it’s possible I’m blunt. I was eleven once upon a time, though it’s far enough in the past to refer to as a lifetime ago. Eleven was an important year in my scheme of things. Much happened. I realized my fat legs were destroying any hope I had for a good life, for one thing. [i] Of lesser import was … Continue reading Sometimes, all you need is a sheet mask and a bath bomb.
An eating disorder is a sneaky thing that’s always trying to kill you. We forget that fact easily and to our peril as we travel down recovery road. But time passes and memories fade. Emotions, once hot, mellow, and the dramatic resolutions of early sobriety seem over-the-top with the passage of time. Were things truly that bad? Is eternal vigilance really the price of liberty? … Continue reading Reblog: “Restarting the Recovery Clock.”
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.
From Famine to Feast 