It started the Monday before last. I got a promotion at work, and started a seven week training class for the new position on the 16th. Understandably, my work routine was changed to fit with the schedule of the trainers and the rest of the people in my class. My hours were changed from 6:30-3p to 8-4:30p, I had to leave my own little cubicle for a classroom, and like most classes sat with my peers in the room. Can you spot yet the thing that turned my world into a hurricane?

It was sitting. For most people the act of sitting all day is a normal part of life, for me though it's something I dislike intensely. The longer I sit the more lethargic I become, the more muddled my mind turns, and the more my restless leg syndrome (yes that is a real thing) acts up. It also feels like every couple of months I read some new information supporting the fact that sitting all day is just not healthy. For me sitting is uncomfortable. For my disorder it's another thing all together. I think I've mentioned that one of my disorder behaviors was to stand as much as I possibly could because it burns more calories than sitting. Post Mercy I have gotten better at sitting down when I am tired or when I feel like it would be comfortable to do so, but I still do stand much of the time because I get restless otherwise.

I knew going into this training class would be difficult, but what I didn't know was that she would kick into overdrive and cause me to just about lose my mind...again. The whole experience felt weird beyond belief. During the day my mind would be occupied with everything I was learning, but the whole time there was a constant racing chant in the background that I needed to move, move, move. In my chair I would fidget as much as I possibly could without attracting to much attention, and the moment we broke for lunch, every 15 minute break, I was walking. Through every hallway, up and down every flight of stairs, I never stopped moving. With a later start to my day I had time to take a walk up and down Maine street before work, and another longer one after. A couple weeks ago I had started doing some light yoga a couple of times a week, but now I needed to do it every day. And from the moment I got home to when I went to bed I was standing.

That still didn't seem like enough though. She was telling me that each hour I sat was another pound gained. I felt so huge that the idea of eating food made me sick. I knew I couldn't skip meals, wouldn't skip meals, but she talked me into letting a few things disappear off my meal plan. She, always so obsessed with calorie counts, constantly hounded me with each food choice I made and there were several meals that by some would just be considered a snack.

The combination of extra moving, less calories (aka energy and nourishment), and non-stop chanting left me both wired and exhausted by the end of work each day. She shut up once I left the building but that was only because she was gearing herself up to hit me with a tsunami of negativity and wretchedness the second I walked in my front door. Each day I felt weaker and more unsure of my self-worth. Each hit made it harder to stand up to her demands.

What is almost the weirdest, craziest part in this whole tale, is that I had no idea how bad I was getting. I knew things were tough, but the fact that I was sinking close to relapse failed to register in my brain.. It wasn't until Wednesday when I was talking to my therapist and she said to me "Kelly, how is this not a relapse" that reality hit me, and when it did I was scared to death.

The last couple of days have been better. I talked to the trainers at work and I am now standing during the day. It's amazing how much more I am able to focus on what I'm supposed to be learning with her keeping quiet. I have gone back to eating all of my meal plan, which is good because I did lose weight this past week. I am still walking but there is no desperate need to do so behind it, and while I'm being told to do yoga every day I am not listening. The fact that other people know also helps. I've had at least one person asking me what I've eaten every day since my last post and that helps, because I want to give them the honest answer that I am eating what I need to.

~~~~

Due to some reaction I got with my last post I also want to talk about why I write and share the things I do. I do not write to make it seem I'm miserable all the time, or that things are so depressing I hate my life. I don't write to cause my family and friends extra worry and angst. I don't write to make anyone feel sorry for me.

I love my life, and it's precisely for that reason that I feel as bad as I do. This fight sucks more than I can say, but if I didn't do it than my life wouldn't exist much longer. I know that giving in will only lead to a different kind of misery, one that will never lead to happiness and to  peace. I know that even if there are times that I so badly want to listen to what she is telling me to do, moments that happen several times every day, that I can't because what she wants is to kill me. I'm living with this shame, pain, confusion and sadness now because I know that someday it will lead to me back to joy and self acceptance. I just have to keep fighting. I can't do that though without ways to rid my body of the never ending lava of burning emotions and writing allows me to do just that.

 I write so my friends and family, especially those who live far away, know that I am being honest about my recovery. I lied to a lot of people for a long time, and I want them to know the bad so that when I say I've had a good day, or week they know I'm not just saying that. I want them to be able to believe me, I want them to be able to trust me again. I write about my close brush with relapse, so when that day finally does come that I say I am recovered, however far off that day may be, they know I'm really am.

I write and share way more than I am comfortable doing. I second guess myself every time I press 'post'. I know I have family and friends who will love me no matter what, but I know that there is a very good chance that what I put here might scare a few people off. It is scary to let people who, before seeing this blog might have thought I had my life pretty put together, realize that I really am a crazy mess. It might make some wish they didn't know me. I do know that if that is the case than I probably am better off without in my life, but that knowledge doesn't make the possibility of rejection hurt any less.

I don't let those doubts stop me from sharing though because if there is even the slightest possibility that my words could help others out there struggling with an eating disorder feel less shame and isolation, my own shame and fear of others seeing this side of me does not matter. If what I write helps even a single person seek help and find freedom any humiliation and embarrassment I may feel will be worth it. As a society we have a really jilted viewpoint on how to handle mental disorders. Our culture encourages people suffering to hide their pain and put on a brave face. We want to focus only on the good things and gloss over the darkness. But by doing that we alienate people when they need others most. Refusing to face the reality of what they are experiencing just adds to their burden and causes more harm than good. It is not good to dwell in negativity and to close ones eyes to the beauty of this earth, but we also have to allow people time to work through life when it beats them down. To do that we have to not shy away whenever the truth of their pain knocks on our door.

There is no doubt that I'm a mess right now, I am not fully recovered, not even remotely close. I promise though that I am doing the absolute best that I can to get there. Before all of this started I was a happy person. I accepted who I was, I loved food, was more or less OK with how I looked,  I didn't care what others thought of me, and I wasn't thrown off kilter by a small change in my daily routine like having to sit. I know I will find my way back there, but I also know that it will take a very long time. So I am asking you to please not give up on me, I will make it worth your while in the end.

Close Call

Golden pain

drawn with intent

wrapped careful lines between

my heart and hope.

How long will this forever last?
I hope not

a lifetime.

The beginning words of this poem came out from a page of an old book with the rest of the words soon following.

I haven't had much time to write lately. Even tonight I am unable to delve into much detail, but this last week and a half has been hard on frightening level and I need to share. The solid foundation of recovery I've been building seems to have turned into an earthquake of waves trying desperately to pull me under. Only part of me was aware of this though, while most of my mind wandered into happy oblivion. I almost lost...I almost drowned.

Thankfully, I saw my therapist yesterday and we had a very candid discussion about what's been going on, and I left feeling safer and more in charge of my actions. It also helps that this is National Eating Disorder Awareness week and seeing regular reminders about the horrors of this disease is also helping. But how close I came to relapse is something that leaves me questioning everything. Even now the power of temptation, how easy it would be to just give in is almost unbearable. I'm feeling lost, miserable, awful and unsure of myself.

Like I've said before, writing helps and I know this post will tonight. I will try really hard to share more soon and give an update that will hopefully be a more positive one. Feel free to follow this up with e-mails, texts, or calls asking how I am and what I've eaten so far that day. In fact, it would be awesome if you did – I need some extra help right now.

A Hopeful Milestone

Yesterday marked 4 months of my road to recovery. To say it has been tough would be like calling the ocean a small puddle or Mt Everest just a little tall. Each day has been a battle leaving me with new marks and scars by sunset. Every day though has been worth it. This past week brought new challenges and there were some nights I really struggled and fell. I lost some fights and won others, but those stories I'll share another time. Right now I just want to focus on the good, on everything I've gained because I continue to fight.

I have regained most of my physical health back. I have found deeper bonds in my relationships with family and friends, and gained new friends and allies that have shared this journey with me. I have found aspects of myself I believed were forever lost. I once again dance in the cold, relish lazy mornings in bed, and enjoy the fun and adventure of spontaneity. I have looked fear in the eye and run, not away from, but towards it, refusing to be cowed down, refusing to let it win. And I am stronger than I have ever been before. Even on the days I feel most weak I know I have discovered a power within myself that will not ever let her take over again.

Today is the the start of National Eating Disorders Awareness week. I used to always say I could never become anorexic because I loved eating food too much. I was a fool. When I first started treatment at Mercy, I thought I knew no one else who had suffered from this disease. Again I was a fool. Eating disorders are about so much more than food, they are not just an attempt to have the “perfect body”, they are not just caused by the images and body standards portrayed by the media (although that doesn't help), and they sure as hell are not something that anyone chooses to do. I realized all this when I woke up one day and realized I was in one, and by then it had become to strong and I to weak to fight.

Statistics show that one in ten people will suffer from an eating disorder in their lifetime, but so many people are unaware of the fight and struggle of those who have them. It is in the nature and desires of eating disorders to cause their victims to lie and hide their secrets from the world. People with eating disorders often feel alone, trapped, scared and ashamed of what they've “let” themselves become. The all to common misconceptions of society as to what eating disorders are all about does nothing to help these individuals take that first HUGE step of admitting their problem and asking for help.

The only way that you can ever truly know what it is like to have an eating disorder is to experience one yourself, a hell I would not wish on anyone. The next best thing then is to seek out as much information as you can. So what I am asking you to do is some research, to do a little reading every day this week. Look up an article about the health effects of these disorders. Search for the reasons why eating disorders can begin. Discover ways to notice the warning signs that someone you know may have a disorder and then find information on what you can do to help them. Read the stories of others who have suffered, who are fighting, and learn what it was like for them. If you have any questions for me then ask. Then, take all of that and then share it with others. For it is only by sharing knowledge, by promoting understanding, and by offering nothing but love and support for people with these disorders will that we as a society can beat them.

I woke up today with her telling me that I was not enough. I woke up to her demands that I work myself to exhaustion. I wanted to go out to the woods and explore, but she wanted it more, so I'm staying home because I know that anything otherwise would mean she wins. Even now I feel her pushing me to stop fighting and I'm listening to her tell me to skip food for the rest of the day. She's provided ample opinions on how I look in my clothes, and is doing her utmost best to get me to hate my body and how I feel in it. I don't expect her to stop, rather I foresee the rest of today being one full of mental and emotional exhaustion as I work to just make it from one second to the next without letting her take hold. But the anniversary of yesterday has given me an extra shield to throw up and block her advances. The fact that I've made it this far is a big deal, and I hope that four months from now I will still be winning the fight, still gaining strength, still be breaking through the chains she'd built up for so long. I hope that four months from now I can still say I am doing all that I can to find freedom.

Peace Will Come Through Fighting and Writing

"I like the strength that I fell in my legs when I walk. When I was starving myself, I used to feel weak all of the time - as if I could be carried away by the wind."

That is a line I read in Life Without Ed (the book I referenced in my last post). It's one of the passages I've underlined because it is something I can relate to completely. Last year, before I started treatment at Mercy, there were often times I worried my legs wouldn't be able to support me much longer. I'd be out hiking in the woods, miles from my car, and feel my legs buckle threatening to give way. I'd be out for an evening walk through the Bowdoin campus and my legs would tremble with each step. That doesn't happen anymore.

Last week when talking to my therapist about the rough few days I'd had she asked how far into this book I'd gotten and what parts, if any, really spoke to me. This line was the first thing I thought of, because it's words run through my mind whenever I'm having a moment I'm tempted to give in to her (my disorder not my therapist). Thinking of them gives me a little boost of strength to say no. My therapist asked me what other positive physical differences I'd noticed since recovery, and the first thing I said was "I don't feel my heart working anymore". I started to explain what I'd meant by that, because to someone unaware that can actually seem like a bad thing, but she understood.

That power and truth behind what I'd said in that moment is something that has stuck in my head since. When it happened, when I felt my heart working, it felt like my body had shifted down a gear. It was slower, hard to move, less alive. But I could feel my heart beat faster, filling my chest with a pressure and tightness that I can only imagine is similar to what people experience during a heart attack. The first time I have a concrete memory of that happening (although I'm sure it was not the first ever) was on my birthday last year. I'd spent about 3 hours working out and eaten very little before and after. As the months went on it happened more frequently - a companion who graced me with it's company most days and for increasingly longer hours. I knew that was a sign that something was wrong, but my disorder just assured me that meant I was succeeding.

The weak legs, the overworked heart, being constantly freezing, and the bone deep exhaustion I felt more every day were the physical things that I felt because of my illness. They frightened me, but exhilarated her and only gave her more strength over my daily decisions.

Another thing she gleaned power from? My eyes. The physical proof that I saw taking place on my body. I don't know how many people knew, or at least guessed, what was going on before Mercy. I've had more than one person tell me they had no idea so for all I know it could be that no one did. I was pretty good at hiding it, at adding more and more layers of clothing to hide what lay underneath (layers were also a necessity to help me find any kind of warmth). Something I think I've mentioned before, but briefly, was the need for me to hide my arms. I never knew it was possible to become so intimately familiar with the vein patterns on your arms, or that each arm had it's own unique design. When I first noticed the change in my arms I learned that it was something I could hide by holding them at certain angles, and that holding something could help as well. By the end though, the only way to shield the truth from others was through clothes. The sight of my bare arms completely devoid of any muscle or fat was something that horrified me. But for her that was proof that I was good and she'd use the degree to which my veins would pop out as a benchmark to measure how good I'd been at not eating.

When I looked at myself in the mirror all the rib on my back stood out clearly (although not nearly definite enough for her), my tail bone was constantly bruised because there was no fat or muscle around to keep it from getting that way otherwise. My feet were nothing but a design of bones and veins - twisted warped versions of what they should have been. I've always had really thick hair, so others might not have noticed any difference, but every time I looked in the mirror I saw it hanging limp, absent of the volume it normally held without effort. Seeing clothes that used to fit (at a normal healthy weight) hanging off my body was cause for celebration, and clothes that wouldn't have fit at my normal weight that became loose only brought further joy.

Other than the improvement in my hair, we disagree on basically every change in my body since Mercy. She looks at my hips and tells me I'm fat. She sees the change in my arms and tells me I'm a failure. The fact that my feet look normal means that my eating is out of control. And clothing that is even remotely tight means that I am good for nothing and not deserving of any happiness.

Yesterday was a good day. One full mostly of joy. She was mostly pretty quiet, especially from the afternoon onward. Today on the other hand has been a different matter altogether. The day itself hasn't been bad. I danced around my apartment to music, got lost in a good book, laughed at the antics of Faelina, went over to a friends, and so much more. Despite all that though, she has not stopped plaguing me with awfulness and nonsense and it has been a real struggle from the moment I woke up.

When I'm having a bad day and those words from Life Without Ed surface in my thoughts I grab onto them and use them to help me remember how good it feels to walk without fear, to not be aware of each beat of my heart, and to once more think of 0 degrees as not that cold. The physical strength of my body helps me to combat the miserable feelings she brings me other wise, and to ignore her shouts when she looks in the mirror and doesn't like what she sees. It helps me decide to eat even when I have no desire to do so. Makes me push through the too full feeling I have to get the nourishment I need.

Another thing that gives me strength? Writing. Letting go of these dark secrets and feelings lessens the hold and sway she has over me. These posts might seem depressing and unnecessarily repetitive to some, but it doesn't feel that way to me. Each time it feels like I've shared a different darkness, a new element of sadness, and when I've turned my emotions into words and pushed the "publish" button on my blog the sense of relief I feel is indescribable. It's much like the sense of relief I might get if I did give and work out for hours or skip a meal or both. Only that relief would be temporary and leave me ultimately feeling worse, whereas the relief that comes from writing and sharing stays. It doesn't keep the bad feelings away for good, but it becomes another brick in the wall I'm building between me and her - another step in the staircase of recovery I'm slowly making my way up to. If I just remember that and refuse to give in than one day, hopefully sooner than later, that relief will come and stay - for good.

And the Battle Continues...

For the last few weeks I have been working my way through "Life Without ED" by Jenni Schaefer. The author is a woman who suffered from an eating disorder for decades and the book outlines her recovery efforts - the good and the bad. She is great at explaining what it is like to live with an eating disorder, and I relate to a lot of what she says. It is a book I strongly recommend to anyone who wants to know more about what this disease is like, if you have someone close to you trying to fight it, or for anyone who has an eating disorder and is trying to find help. Schaefer writes about her disorder as though it was another living being, one with home she'd been in an abusive relationship with for years and was now trying to break up with. Her disorder was male, she called him Ed, and almost always referenced him like he was a living, breathing, talking human being. This is not an uncommon thing for people recovering from eating disorders to do, because it really does help.

In my first post about my disorder I mentioned I had done this as well. Unlike Schaefer, I knew from the beginning that my disorder was female. She has her own name and all my disorder behaviors and urges and negative self-doubt come from her. Reading this book has made it even easier for me to separate myself from her, and to feel less awkward about discussing her at all in this way. It has helped me to recognize a particular thought or emotion as hers rather than my own, and has helped me to confront her when she's telling me to do something wrong or trying to send me down a spiral of self-doubt. This post will be filled with references to her. If while reading this you're starting to think I'm crazy, well news flash - that's what eating disorders are. They are crazy, and nonsensical, and the rules of their world make absolutely no sense to those in the real one. This helps me though, it really does, so crazy or not I'm sticking with it. Now with no further ado, here is what's been going on with me the last couple weeks.

I had one week that was actually kind of ok. I didn’t feel awesome, but I wasn’t so bogged down with misery that getting through the day felt like a breeze compared to the weeks prior. Instead of feeling like an injection of awfulness and despair had been shot straight into my heart flooding me with an instant rush of emotions so strong I'd spend the rest of the day reeling and desperately grasping for something to hold on too, she’s now more like a steady IV drip, where at periodic intervals a few drops of negative feelings are poured into my veins so they can make their way through my body to rest in my heart and mind. I still hate it, but it’s better that way, more manageable. I think part of the change had to do with a letter and book I got from a fellow Mercy patient. I swear seeing them continue to fight gives me more inspiration and strength to fight than anything else. Unfortunately, I think there was another reason why the disorder laid low for a few days – she was planning her next move. Each time it’s a different kind of attack, a new tactic meant to get in and uproot the shaky foundation of recovery I’ve built. A new plan meant to send me straight back to where I was before. Despite the fact that this is taking place in my own mind, I have no idea when it will come, and never any clue what to expect.

She made her move last Thursday, right after my weekly weigh-in at the doctor. I lost weight, I’m not sure how much, the nurse just said a little. To a healthy, sane person with no experience of disorders you might think that after hearing that the hugeness I usually do feel might have dissipated a little. But that’s not how it works. To an eating disorder no amount of weight loss is ever enough. They will tell you every single time you step on that scale that you can always lose more, that you should lose more, that you must lose more, or else you are a failure at losing weight, at managing your life, at being a person. They will tell you this until it kills you – and I can guarantee if they could find a way into the afterlife with you they would be there telling you that you still didn’t lose enough – that you should have done more to weigh less before you finally did wind up in a grave.

So when I found out that my number on the scale had gone down a bit, she jumped right up and informed me that the nurse was lying, that I had in fact gained, and that I needed to go home and throw in a work out dvd, go out for a hike in the woods, and then run up and down my stairs for an hour. When I refused to listen, she said fine, then go home and eat dinner but eat less than what I normally do. I could still have an entrée, a side and two veggies – but I needed to make sure that what I chose for those first two things had fewer calories than other foods I might possibly want.  My evening snack should have only 2 tablespoons of nut butter instead of 4, the apple I ate should be the smallest one I had so the calorie intake wouldn’t be so high.

Her voice hasn’t stopped since. Imagine the most talkative person you know and then multiply what they say by a thousand. Now envision that everything they say is an attempt to make you feel miserable, to attack any good feelings they have, to get you to do the exact opposite of what you know is good and healthy and right. Imagine they are trying to kill you. Now imagine living with that person and their thoughts and comments 24 hours a day 7 days a week with no end in sight.

She rarely asks me to skip a meal altogether, instead she asks if I really need a side for my breakfast since I did so much sitting the day before. She says that if I feel so full after eating that means I ate too much so that I shouldn’t have a night snack, or at the very least it should be half of what I normally eat. She says that dinner is fine, but I can only have one thing that isn’t a vegetable and everything else must be veggies. Or if I want more than one non-veggie item then that’s find but I  should really make sure it’s these two things because they less fat than anything else. Or if I want that higher fat item than I have to make sure it’s organic, and I need to make sure that I do go for a walk that’s 10 minutes longer than my normal route. Yogurt is ok but it has to be organic, and she makes sure to tell me that I’m slowly poisoning myself to an early death whenever I don’t follow the organic only rule.

She says all these things in such a cheerful upbeat way  (because she knows her previous approaches haven’t worked) that it’s hard to not give in and listen. And I won’t lie, there are times she has won. I haven’t skipped meals, but I have gone for the less calorie option. I bought some of my favorite yogurt since it was on sale but it wasn’t organic, so I grabbed some organic yogurts too even though I like that brand less.  I haven’t done anything that falls into the category of “strenuous exercise” but I have upped the amount of physical activity more than I probably should have because it was the only way she would stop screaming and let me eat.

She also likes to bargain through the mirror. It seems like every time I pass by one she zeros on one area of my body that is clearly way bigger than it should be so that means I should eat a little less when the next meal time comes around. When I don’t  listen to that suggestion than the next mirror (let me just say how much I hate mirrors right now) I happen across – sometimes only seconds later – she’ll say “ok that first thing I brought up really ok, but this part of you really is enormous so how about you go make an extra trip up and down the stairs and leave out a few almonds from your next snack. It’s ok, just a little bit is fine. You made it this far in recovery – how bad can it be?”

"How bad can it be?"
"What could it hurt?"
"You've been good for so long, don't you deserve a break?"

She peppers those questions in between every bargain she tries to strike with me trying to make it sound like she's on my side, has my best interests at heart, that she wants me to succeed.

I’m telling you this so I can be held accountable. I am staying as strong as I possibly can, but it definitely helps when people know both my successes and failures. It helps when I am asked directly how I am doing, what I’ve had to eat today, am I staying healthy, are the voices tougher today than normal. It helps if people know I’m kind of on shaky territory so they can see any warning signs take my arm, sit down, and ask me how I am doing.

It is also important to be reminded that I don't just owe it to myself to fight back. I owe it to my mom, to my sisters, my best friend. I owe it to every one who has ever done anything, has gone out of their way, to help make sure I have a better future. They don't deserve the figurative slap in the face I'd be giving them and their efforts by throwing my health and life away simply because I'm tired of fighting. I know recovery can only be achieved if I want it. I do, but there are times that my family, friends, fellow Mercy patients, and anyone else who might be rooting for me, are the reason I push through the exhaustion and do what I, not the disorder, knows to be right. Because I am tired. So tired. There's never any rest. Even on the days where she is quiet, I still have to be constantly on guard because when I drop it for a second she sneaks in and does her absolute best to trip me up. This week she damn near succeeded.

There is good news. I left my therapy session this week feeling stronger than I have in a long time. I stopped by the store on the way home and bought food that she hates but I wanted. I got my weight checked today and the nurse said I hadn't lost any more - that I'd remained stable. And, I've had flashes where I felt my old self peeking through the cloud I've been in since this whole thing started. Not so much this last week, more during the week prior. Still, regardless of when, they happened. There were moments I actually felt comfortable in my own skin - something that hasn't happened in over a year. There was a second or two that the thought of eating something like peanut butter brownies, or gelato, or a chocolate chip cookie didn't send my blood pressure through the roof. Did I eat those? No. But I can't tell you the last time I looked on those foods without fear, so that's progress. I have found something that makes bread slightly less terrifying, although I know I've got a long way to go before I overcome that hurtle completely. Most important, right now at least, is I got through this new attack. It was really tricky and I almost didn't make it. The fact that I did just gives me more arsenal to fight with the next time around; whatever she brings.

My Library Has Surpassed Itself In Awesomeness!!

It never fails....

Yesterday after work, I walked down to the library to return a couple books on tape. With every step I took I reminded myself that I DID NOT NEED to get any more books while there. I am currently reading three books and have one more from the library waiting in the wings, I absolutely, definitely, did not need to bring home anymore. I walked inside steadfast in my decision - and walked back out holding three new books and a Shakespeare play.

When had I stepped inside to drop off my things I decided it wouldn't kill me if I just walked to check out my favorite shelf - Staff Picks - just to see if there was anything I might want to keep in mind for the next time I did actually need a book. But I couldn't make it there before first picking up "The Book of William ' How Shakespeare's First Folio Conquered the World" by  Paul Collins, nor could I pass by the shelf of books reccomended for Diana Gabaldon fans (a woman whose books took over my life in 2012) without walking away from it holding the biggest book there "The Historian" by Eliza Kostova. It took all of my willpower to ignore "War and Peace" by Leo Tolstoy resting on the shelf of Russian literature, because as much as I do truly want to read that book I decided that two books really should be my limit.That is until I found this...

The library has taken a bunch of books, wrapped them in paper and twine, and set them out for readers to have a "Blind Date With a Book". There is a short description on the front of each that lets one know a little about the story, but no titles or author names are given, so we have no idea what book we're picking. I can't even say how much I LOVE this idea!! I love the way it's wrapped, love the mystery behind the paper, love the idea of the surprise you get when opening it. Needless to say I wanted to bring home all of them but knew doing so would be slightly impractical. So after much agonizing and debate and analyzing of descriptions I picked just one:

"Seeking mystery fans who yearn for literate, intelligent, sophisticated whodunits. When a young art expert discovers a murder hidden in a valuable fifteenth-century Flemish painting, she must overcome some unscrupulous twentieth-century characters to uncover the identity of the killer. An inventive plot, gripping suspense, fascinatingly complex characters, and innovative incorporation of art, literature, and music will enthrall readers looking for something a little different"

It's now sitting on my bookshelf at home still wrapped. I've decided to work on the books I'm currently reading, and maybe start this one on Saturday. It'll be kind of like a little Valentines day gift to myself - and what better gift than a new book!?!

And while reading last night, I got a little reminder that, however great books are, they always take second place to a curious kitten wanting attention!

Have a great day everyone!!!

Word Love

Today is the first of what I've decided will be a regular, possibly weekly, post topic. For as long as I can remember I have been in love with words and the way that some people are able to take just a handful quiet ordinary words and transform them into something amazing. I have journals filled with my favorites, books where I've underlined passages I found particularly poignant, and it's a safe bet that at any given time I have at least a quote or two written down on scraps of paper in my purse, on my table, or stuffed in the pocket of a coat. Sometimes I fall in love with something for the feelings the words evoke, others because the message is something I can so strongly relate to, and then there are the lines where I'm just mesmerized by the true beauty another has created through the simple use of language.

Here are some of my favorites this week....


The first comes from one of the books I'm reading "The House at Riverton" by Kate Morton. It's the second book of hers I've read and so far I'm enjoying it just as much as the first. The story is compelling and her writing filled sentences like these

“The girl in the mirror caught my eye briefly...It is an uncanny feeling, that rare occasion when one catches a glimpse of oneself in repose. An unguarded moment, stripped of artifice, when one forgets to fool even oneself.”

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This one I just stumbled across today going through an old file. When I was younger I remember driving in the car with my parents and looking out into the Alaskan woods. I imagined fairies and elves, unicorns and dragons, hidden amongst the trees just out of sight. I could always envision them in my mind, but their presence always felt more real - more possible - during winter. I say this happened when I was younger, but if I'm being honest I still do this today. I am very well aware that many near me do not share my current joy and happiness about the snowy weather we've been having lately, but maybe imaging that magic is hiding in the forests nearby might help you enjoy it a little better. 

"Deep within the winter forest among the snowdrift wide, you can find a magic place where all the fairies hide...

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The next two quotes come from different writers but share the same topic - eating disorders. I've mentioned before one of my new favorite websites - Thought Catalog - and both articles came from there. I read the first last week and was drawn to the author's description of that she felt like in the deepest throes of her disorder. There was one line in particular (which I've underlined) that I felt myself fall into completely because that's exactly how I felt when it happened to me.
The other article I just found today. This person's disorder has taken over in more ways than mine did for me. My behaviors were just restriction and purging through exercise but I felt myself relating to almost every word she said. Her fear and shame about others thoughts and reactions when they've noticed the change in her body is something very real to me - and something I still struggle with every single day. I've put the links to both articles at the end of this post.

“I have heard many references to eating disorders as being the “darkest days” of people’s lives. And while my days did feel undoubtedly dark, I remember them now mostly as quiet. Like when you’re about to go under general anesthesia in the operating room, and right before you slip into another world, you can hear only the humming of voices around you, and you can’t summon the strength to say a word. It was the deep sleep I tried to fight off, but ultimately welcomed with open arms”

"The confusion and shame that comes with watching your body change into the one thing you hated out of fear and disgust for so long, the whole time feeling utterly powerless to stop it, is a mindfuck of the highest degree.It’s one thing to have to personally accept the changes you see in the mirror, something I still have yet to be able to do, but it’s an entirely other beast to learn to accept the looks of people in your past."

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Now for one that's a little more positive. As I was doing my usual daily browsing through my favorite websites and blogs, I happened upon this quote by Tom Hiddleston. I am big on working to overcome your fears, to face the unimaginable and to do the things that seem terrifyingly impossible. Of course I am very aware that is easier said than done. While with some things I've come very far in overcoming a certain fear, there are others so daunting that years later I've only taken the slightest first step in their direction. So maybe we just need to dare to turn that fear into excitement. If we can do that just think of the life we'll discover!

"I never get afraid of things; I only get excited"

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Finally today with a line from Shakespeare's "Cymbeline" in Act V Scene V. It isn't long and might not seem that grand to most, but it touched me for some reason and made me smile.

“See, Posthumus anchors upon Imogen, and she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye on him”

I've shared some of my new favorite quotes but I am ending today's post with a picture of my favorite place on this planet. It is a place that I love and miss more deeply than words could ever convey. I hope you enjoy seeing it as much as I did taking it. I wish you all the loveliest day...

As Good as Skinny Feels
The Skinny Hot Girl