In the Burning Phase of My Life.

To befriend the shadow girl in the mirror…

Do you ever?

Do you ever get tired of yourself?

I don’t know about you, but I woke up today, shuffled into the kitchen, made coffee with my puffy eyes still closed, sat and gulped down that first cup, and then…just sat there. Nothing was wrong. Nothing to fix in particular, no phone calls to make at six-something in the morning, no chores that couldn’t wait until later. Sitting down in front of my computer, I re-read my two written offerings from yesterday…and cringed. Good God, how can anyone handle me?

I am a bit of a difficult person, it has been said. I have been known to smile and smile while I am biting down on the soft tender flesh of my inner cheek until it bleeds. Ask me how I am, and more often than not, I am fine. Even if my seams are busted, and stitches are dropped all over the place, I’m just fine, thank you. That has always been my problem in therapy as well. If you put me in self-directed talk therapy, I will lead you around in circles and circles, telling you interesting things that seem significant but that aren’t relevant to my current life and woes in the least…until you call me on my bullshit. Then I most likely will never come back to your office again. Proud of this? No, I’m not. I’m trying hard to work to change this. But part of me has always feared that if I let you see too many of my weaknesses or faults, you will consider me a bad investment and leave. Once again, this is my problem, not yours.

But exposing myself has always been nearly impossible for me. Being the perfect girl is difficult. I don’t know why I ever thought it would be easy. Perfect grades, yes. Perfect manners…I’m there. But if I were to choose the perfect me, the description that I would hand to the police artist to render would produce someone that didn’t even have a passing resemblance to yours truly. I have used my body as a way to avoid the issues that are really boiling under the heated surface of me. Make it bigger to function as armor, to be paradoxically mighty in mass, but utterly invisible at the same time. Starve myself down to a symphony of clean white bone, and be more visible than ever, a ghastly cautionary tale. Neither extreme seems to work all that well, but I find that the mid-ground that I tread in feels even worse. There is no comfort in the middle.

I guess what I am trying to say is this. I am a work in progress…and I’m not sure where the progression is leading to. The despair I feel when I look in the mirror is extreme. I feel out of control, too much of me all over the place. I am no longer the sad, tiny graceful girl that was small enough to fly away on dandelion fluff. She is the one that I tend to cast as Most Desirable, even though she held my hand during the darkest and most hopeless times in my entire life. Thinnest me=invincible. A twisted idea, one I need to let go of, but it has a tempting siren song all its own. By writing all this down, I hope to see all of the holes in my theory of what makes me who I am, and try to strive towards a model that will work and sustain me for the rest of my life.

It’s hard to set this all down in words. It’s hard to admit that I need others, both for validation and companionship, and just to know that I am not alone. For me, anorexia has always been a disease of isolation and pulling away. I, quite frankly, cannot survive like that anymore.

So, I write. And I must get over the uncomfortable notion that I don’t deserve to have my voice heard. I am a person who believes that everyone’s voice and point of view is precious, and what makes them who they are.

Is it okay if I join in, too?


March 25, 2010 Posted by | Deep thoughts with a side of coffee. | , , , , | Leave a comment

Thank you!

I want to say thank you to everyone who is reading my writings so far. Some are older things that I just feel have a place here, but I’m also going to write daily on anything that my mind brews and serves to me. The writing is coming more easily now…yet paradoxically it is far more difficult for me at the same time. The ecstasy of headlong creation that was (strangely) possible while I was busy starving to death two winters ago seems to have left the building. With true clarity comes ordered thought, and with ordered thought comes a strange kind of regret. Now I am my own constant companion, the passenger in my own sidecar. I am exquisitely aware of each moment and the attendant feelings, both fair and foul, that come along with having the blinders of constant chaos lifted.

So, what am I really trying to say?

Right now, things are feeling more than a bit uncomfortable. I am working on the sequel to The Vanishing Point and the going is, well, ¬†rough. There are a lot of things that I don’t want to remember…and even more alarming, ¬†many more things that I simply don’t remember. I am trying to reconstruct the story moment by moment, which is parallel to the way that I am trying to orchestrate my recovery…minute by minute.

Thanks again for stopping by. I am eternally grateful for anyone who reads my words. If you like what you read, or even if you don’t like it, please leave me comments here…no overly-sensitive writer likes to labor in black and endless space. We may live and die alone, but along the way it’s always nice to gather those you love around you in front of a cheery fire.

Love, luck and passion to you all.

March 13, 2010 Posted by | Deep thoughts with a side of coffee. | , , , , , , | 4 Comments


I have come to realize something about myself.

I am not very good at relaxing.

I think it could have started at birth. After all, I was born more than three months before my projected due date. Apparently I’ve always been more than a bit nervous, and just a little bit in a hurry. Those who know me would consider this a humorous understatement.

While I was at Rosewood Ranch for eating disorders for inpatient anorexia treatment, I found out that the way that I had been living for the two decades previous was exhausting at best, and extremely dangerous at worst. Big news, this??? I think not. If my life construct had been ticking along on all cylinders I wouldn’t have been busy dying of a disease that was completely out of control. I learned many tools that rattled around in my brain as revolutionary, but really had no time to resonate since each day was so packed with new stimulus, new connections, and new information. It seemed that time would tell what would stick and what would simply slide off of the Teflon coating inside of my skull.

The year since leaving Rosewood as a person in recovery has been a mix of so many things. The perfectionist in me has refused to see that each day will be up and down, sometimes minute by minute. But I’m tired of the perfectionist quacking at me all the time. What has She done for me except nearly killed me on several occasions? There has to be a better way.

I have, for better or for worse, gone off all of the cornucopia of medications that I was placed on while in treatment. The antidepressant that I was prescribed in massive doses for my OCD is very harmful for my bipolar disease. Who wants to stay on a medication that can forcibly send you into higher manias? This is something that I am trying to prevent. The two drugs that are meant to manage the bipolar disease artificially spike my appetite. As a longtime sufferer of anorexia nervosa, the very idea of having my physical appetite out of my own control is a rampant poison that I cannot drink. I found myself in the uncomfortable position of deciding what was more necessary…addressing the bipolar disease, or preserving my sanity and easing my eating disorder. The eating disorder won.

There was an interesting side effect, aside from the obvious physical ones, to going off of all of my meds.

I began to FEEL things again.

And this, for me, is not as simple as it sounds. I am used to being tired and sedated. Good thing? No. But predictable? Yes, indeed.

There came a day a couple of weeks ago that I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I’m usually pretty good at that. But an internal check didn’t help. Then it occurred to me.


I was looking for something, and nothing was there.

This was new to me. I sat down and stared at the wall with vicious intent for several full minutes. And still, nothing popped up.

I was just having a day.

Like the whole rest of the world, I was just living. No big whoop, nothing to report.

ohmygod, I can’t handle this there’s got to be something to FOCUS ON…!

Nope, wasn’t going to happen. It was then I realized something huge. I had been living a crisis-based life for as long as I could remember. This phenomenon extended far before the time when I was legally allowed to drive a car. It most likely even went back to the time when I was still growing in permanent teeth and playing in the sandbox. I knew no other way to be. But here it was…just a day. Then I realized, once the internal cogs of panic stopped turning after finding NOTHING to panic about, that this was going to be fine.

Not everything has to be about putting out emotional fires. I was allowed to just be. This may sound simple, but for me it is astonishing.

This blog is a part of that. Not everything needs to be perfect. Not everything needs to be “just so.”

Sometimes, it just is. And I am learning to be okay with that. Save the drama for your mama. I’m just going to put my thoughts down and see where they go.



‘Nuff said.

March 11, 2010 Posted by | Deep thoughts with a side of coffee. | , | 2 Comments