Living life with mental illness. Living life post eating disorder. Living life.
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... Continue Reading →
I’ve a lovely post about “could-do” rather than “must-do” going, but I haven’t finished it yet. I’ve another one about Kegels and ear wax that’s little more than a title, the title being “Kegels and ear wax.” Things have been a little chaotic here on Walton Mountain since the October full moon. (update: I'm turfing... Continue Reading →
I abandoned Facebook recently and every day, my mood celebrates that decision. Still, the occasionally meaningful graphic is nice. I found one on Pinterest. I have a fondness for things that look nostalgic. It's good advice - stand tall and find the light - but it should come with a corollary. Something in an "evil... Continue Reading →
Anniversary reblogs are a thing, especially when your life exploded with the rise of the full moon three days back.
It was extremely bumpy for a bit: luckily, things are starting to settle and calm. Unfortunately, OG writing has taken a back seat. Everything has taken a back seat. Sick parents when they’re older is an eye-opener.
I could’ve lived without the corresponding epiphany.
Anyway, no is a complete sentence. Boundaries.
I was driving home the other day when I remembered something: I don’t have to live my life for other people.
This isn’t a new thought, nor is it unique. It’s a thought that has popped up before – one reads about this truth everywhere – but I’ve avoiding dealing with it. The undealt with, however, returns. The thought came back over and over again: it was waiting for me to feel it in my bones.
The truth is both simple and difficult.
I only have to satisfy myself with my choices.
Removing others from the equation didn’t make choice less daunting: even when it affects only me, I struggle to commit to an option. Letting go of the belief that I’m obligated to look after other people’s hopes and fears as I struggle to navigate through life myself can only help: a smaller load is always better.
This doesn’t…
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From Famine to Feast. 