I’m not journaling. The pretty notebook I use to share my thoughts and feelings in lies nearby on the floor. I’m only feet away from getting it done, but my avoidant-urge is strong, my counselor’s admonishments about the importance of letting things out notwithstanding. I’d blame my depression, but using that as an excuse when it’s a chronic condition is as valid as blaming my … Continue reading Not journaling, definitely not crying.
A family friend died this past weekend. I learned about it on Wednesday morning. Then I went out and bought cat food. It’s an oddity of death; for those of us left behind, life goes on. It seems like it shouldn’t. It seems like the world should pause, acknowledge the passing of the now dead, stay silent for a beat so the grief of those … Continue reading Stop the clocks.
Letting go of my eating disorder means grieving. It’s a loss. I’m losing my coping mechanism and my support system. I’m cutting out a piece of me, and that’s a wrench, despite it being the right choice. The excision will leave a hole, and I need to fill it. Whatever I choose has to feel more important than the eating disorder, a solid challenge. The eating disorder … Continue reading Grief.
