I haven’t spent a day without at least one open wound on my person since I was nineteen, usually on my face. My work on eating disorder recovery is going well, but learning not to cut obsessively at the “imperfections” on my face is harder. [i] A combination of things led to the pattern of behaviour that doctors and other smart people now want to … Continue reading The healing of (passive aggressive) wounds.
I decided to make a mix of dirt and diatomaceous earth to spoon on the houseplants rather than try and add the dusty stuff loose. I’m having a problem with fungal gnats; when you have as many houseplants as I do, that’s an issue. I’ve been using the sticky traps Doctor Google suggested, but that only captures them after the fact, and they seem … Continue reading I’m pretty sure I’m (not) fine.
(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.
From Famine to Feast 