29 January 2012


Underneath (A Poem of Anorexia and Loss)

Peel back
the layers

My smile
I am

About a
Without you

I try
To imagine


And my
In a

Tiny Pieces



And I
try to

I try


But I am

25 January 2012

Saying goodbye (again)

            I will be filing for divorce this spring, and frankly it still hurts.
            But in my heart, I know that this is the right thing. We simply aren't able to give each other what we need. David needs his freedom to create his art. I need someone to love and cherish me, to stay by my side no matter what and to share both the joys and troubles of life with me. Simply put, there was nothing left for us to give each other as husband and wife.
            I still love David, but more and more I realize it is not David I miss—because I was very anxious around him this summer, and often felt within me that reconciliation was not going to happen—but companionship; the fun of having someone to do things with and be with.
            I'm not sure how any of this happened, for once I believed that we would be together forever. I never expected to change my name again; not for the reasons I did. But there are a few days, I look at my new name and think, I can become who I once was—courageous, curious, strong, independent, often fearless, and someone who loved people and being part of their lives. That a whole new life awaits me, if only I have the courage to live the life that I have instead of mourn forever the life I once lived.
            I simply know that it is over, and even though my heart is broken, it will mend one day. And I will look back at the pain of the last few years and it won't hurt as much.
            And then I will be healed, and able to move forward...

24 January 2012

Thesis Diary - 24 January 2012

Excerpt from "We Shall Be Heard: Releasing the Silence of Anorexia Nervosa and Achieving Healing Through Creative Nonfiction and Memoir Writing"

Fear Anxiety Depression Self-Hatred . . .
Each rock was a strange mixture of velvety softness combined with rough bumps and indentations. I wrote each word — feelings and actions that have weighed me down for years — on several rocks in stark black ink.
One rock was reserved for the terrifying and addictive disease which has been trying to take over me body and soul for years.
I started to feel both fear and relief as I traced that word in blood-red ink on each side of the rock. I fear letting go of anorexia because it has become so intermingled with my identity. But I know I need to let go of this disease in order to live.
The word looked so powerful. My mind flew back to when anorexia first crept into my life, chipping away bits and pieces of me until I sometimes felt there was nothing left.
Each one of us wrote down the things that have weighed us down throughout the years. We then could choose to hold onto these rocks that symbolically represented the traits that have held us down for years.
Or we could chose to toss these rocks into the river running past the River Centre Clinic. The choice was ours . . .
I went first. I was determined to throw everything that had weighed me down for years. I have struggled through almost six weeks at the clinic. The road to recovery has been rocky and I often have been my own worst enemy as I have fought to get better.
But through all the struggle and pain, through the tears I cried and the loneliness I often felt as I longed to be with my husband and friends back home, through the ambivalence I sometimes felt about letting go of anorexia, there remained a mustard seed of hope that I could be free, I would be free.
I stepped down the grassy, sloping path to the river, dodging overgrown bushes and hanging tree branches, balancing my rocks in my hand. I stepped close to the edge, the river's dark waters churning just a few feet away from me. I threw the first rock, angry as I remembered life before my eating disorder developed. I threw more rocks as far as I could, willing each one to sink deep into the water.
The rock with one word — anorexia – remained in my hand. It felt soft and cold in my hand. The word seemed to mock me, saying that I would never get better, I would never be free. I hurled it as hard as could, feeling a strong sense of release as it landed into the water. I felt as if I had been buried under a ton of rocks and I had finally climbed my way out. At that moment it finally hit me — I want to recover. I want anorexia out of my life forever. I want to be free.
Each one of us took our turn. Some women were able to release all of their rocks, while others chose to hold onto one or more until they felt ready to release their burdens.
I started to cry as I walked back up to the clinic. I'm still not sure why. I was feeling a mixture of release and relief, mingled with fear about the work I still need to do in order to get better.
Later that night, I thought about all those rocks we threw into the dark waters. I could still see the words we had written on the rocks. I imagined the water rushing over the rocks until the words disappeared through the ages, the ink worn off and everything which had weighed us down mingled together into nothingness, becoming meaningless as we move forward into recovery and life.

22 January 2012

Thesis Diary - 22 January 2012

Hi everyone! Things have been hectic. I thought I would share part of my thesis - which has consumed much of my time - with all of you. Thanks for reading, and watch for a post explaining everything soon...

Thesis Diary

An excerpt from my thesis, "We Shall Be Heard: Releasing the Silence of Anorexia Nervosa and Achieving Healing Through Creative Nonfiction and Memoir Writing":

Several people took pictures of Grandpa before the funeral started. I wanted to scream, "He's not here, damn it! Can't you see Elbert Mounce has left us?" I knew he was gone when I kissed his icy forehead and touched his stiff hand as I placed a small pocket rosary in the pocket of his jeans. I wanted to say his soul is gone, as the soul of each one of us will fly upward when the cord is cut, when God decides that is it for us, when the Grim Reaper comes to carry us home.
"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound ..." As soon as the first words floated through the funeral home, the wall I had built around myself with Ativan and Xanax broke down and my heart twisted and I again was a child, playing on the green, green lawns of Kentucky, dancing with the fireflies as my Grandpa, Dean and my mother softly spoke to each other on the long, wide porch. I was again a child; a confused little girl who felt both loved and lonely, a child who dreamed of a life far in the future where I would spend each night with someone who loved me and have a life filled with books and learning.
Afterward I was surrounded by food. So much food it frightened me. I know the family here has noticed my weight...