tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60875145987141324642024-03-14T00:47:20.566-04:00The Spirit WithinAngela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.comBlogger253125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-66191395170090896002015-08-17T20:25:00.001-04:002015-08-17T20:25:13.824-04:00To AnonymousIt's been a long time...<br />
<br />
It has been more than a year since I've written anything on this blog. I decided to take a hiatus as I was in a new relationship and adjusting to a new job, plus I wasn't sure in what direction to take this blog.<br />
<br />
Then this appeared in my mailbox today:<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"><a href="http://angelaelackey.blogspot.com/2010/03/anorexia-assisted-suicide-and-injustice.html" target="_blank">Anorexia, assisted-suicide and injustice</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">":</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"> </span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">I have AN and found your post because I have suffered 35 relentless years and am looking for DAS. i do not think it is wrong, Perhaps you are not expendable but many out here are. No therapists take my insurance, I cannot find a Dr without a huge fight, my family can no longer help me and do not have a wish to anymore, I have been displaced and am facing homelessness, and frankly, the fight is gone. I am not able to fight the ED homeless.</span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">I fought hard and it's a myth that you can keep fighting for no apparent reason. This will be the one selfish act of my life but will also be the one self directed act of my life, the only act I determine after 35 years of being yanked around without even a 30 minute rest. I am done.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"> </span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></i></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">The post the writer refers to was written five years ago. I have no way of finding this person. I can't find the IP address where the comment originated from, there are no traces of the person and I don't even know if the writer is a he or a she.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">So I beg of you Anonymous, if you are still reading - please contact me at my e-mail at gambrel.angela@yahoo.com so I can talk to you. You <i>are</i> important.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;">No one is expendable, and I still believe that.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></i></span>Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-62203119405343337522014-03-30T01:45:00.001-04:002014-03-30T01:52:48.758-04:008 June 2006<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-00txHeYt4H4/UzeqzWYEzfI/AAAAAAAAAsE/paZGeSruMfY/s1600/you_left_me_alone-181264.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-00txHeYt4H4/UzeqzWYEzfI/AAAAAAAAAsE/paZGeSruMfY/s1600/you_left_me_alone-181264.jpg" height="147" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
8 June 2006<br />
<br />
You left me...<br />
<br />
Breaking the promises made<br />
Before God and man<br />
<br />
On 8 June 1996,<br />
You said that you would<br />
Love me forever<br />
<br />
You PROMISED<br />
<br />
Promises broken<br />
are worse than<br />
LIES<br />
<br />
As I started to<br />
Circle the Drain<br />
Drowning in<br />
<br />
Self-hatred<br />
and<br />
Anorexia<br />
<br />
You turned<br />
Away from<br />
ME<br />
<br />
Promises broken<br />
are worse than<br />
LIES<br />
<br />
Three times<br />
I felt<br />
The Pain<br />
of you<br />
Leaving<br />
<br />
You were always<br />
a moving<br />
Target<br />
<br />
I never knew<br />
thought<br />
dreamed<br />
imagined<br />
<br />
That you would<br />
Leave Me<br />
<br />
And in leaving<br />
Me<br />
I was exposed to<br />
Hurt<br />
Pain<br />
Predators<br />
Assault<br />
<br />
And worse of all...<br />
Loneliness.<br />
<br />
You left me<br />
Crashing into<br />
Walls<br />
<br />
You left me<br />
Twice<br />
with a note<br />
<br />
You said<br />
You needed<br />
Laughter<br />
<br />
Why then<br />
Didn't you try<br />
To help me?<br />
<br />
Offer me<br />
Care and concern<br />
Instead of<br />
<br />
Indifference?<br />
<br />
I was<br />
Capable<br />
of Learning<br />
To<br />
Laugh again...<br />
<br />
But I needed<br />
You<br />
To help me<br />
<br />
And<br />
You left me<br />
Long before<br />
You<br />
<br />
Walked out that<br />
Door<br />
<br />
The third time<br />
I had to watch<br />
You<br />
Walk out<br />
That Door<br />
<br />
The third time<br />
You left<br />
After<br />
An argument<br />
About a motorcycle<br />
<br />
Apparently<br />
my concern<br />
About YOUR<br />
Safety<br />
Was a<br />
Capital Offense<br />
<br />
A reason<br />
To walk out<br />
That Door<br />
Once again.<br />
<br />
AND<br />
You left me<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
with your own</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Legacy</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
A Legacy</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
That I am</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Still</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Trying to </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Escape</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
My fears</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Continue to</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Circle me</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Swirling</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Throughout</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
My Mind</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Leaving me</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
with </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
fear</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
self-doubt</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
depression<br />
<br />
Anxiety<br />
Strong enough<br />
to kill<br />
Me</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
And very</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Afraid</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
That I will </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Never</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Overcome </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Your</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Legacy</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
That I will</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Never</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Have a</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Normal relationship</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
With any man.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Was that your intent?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
After all,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
why would </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
anyone else</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Want to be with</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Me</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Since you</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Left me</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
You said</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Anorexia</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Pushed you out</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
That Door</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Is that true?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Or did you leave me </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Long before</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Walking out</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
That Door?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
However,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
I am a</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Survivor</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
And I WILL</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Overcome your</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Legacy</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
I will </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Have a normal life</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
With someone who </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Cares about me</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
And keeps</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Promises</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com0DeWitt Charter Township, MI, USA42.7924727 -84.54318669999997842.6992877 -84.704548199999977 42.885657699999996 -84.38182519999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-38502451351030716562014-03-23T09:55:00.002-04:002014-03-23T18:58:05.239-04:00Cranky Old Man...A very eloquent, beautiful poem from Australia ❤<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4G18SYxIn_o/Uy9myZx247I/AAAAAAAAAro/AXCMX_I10TQ/s1600/155968_552818078078739_874418408_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4G18SYxIn_o/Uy9myZx247I/AAAAAAAAAro/AXCMX_I10TQ/s1600/155968_552818078078739_874418408_n.jpg" height="244" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #898f9c; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #898f9c; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.<br />Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, They found this poem. Its q<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">uality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.<br /><br />One nurse took her copy to Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.<br /><br />And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.<br /><br />Cranky Old Man<br /><br />What do you see nurses? . . .. . .What do you see?<br />What are you thinking .. . when you're looking at me?<br />A cranky old man, . . . . . .not very wise,<br />Uncertain of habit .. . . . . . . .. with faraway eyes?<br />Who dribbles his food .. . ... . . and makes no reply.<br />When you say in a loud voice . .'I do wish you'd try!'<br />Who seems not to notice . . .the things that you do.<br />And forever is losing . . . . . .. . . A sock or shoe?<br />Who, resisting or not . . . ... lets you do as you will,<br />With bathing and feeding . . . .The long day to fill?<br />Is that what you're thinking?. .Is that what you see?<br />Then open your eyes, nurse .you're not looking at me.<br />I'll tell you who I am . . . . .. As I sit here so still,<br />As I do at your bidding, .. . . . as I eat at your will.<br />I'm a small child of Ten . .with a father and mother,<br />Brothers and sisters .. . . .. . who love one another<br />A young boy of Sixteen . . . .. with wings on his feet<br />Dreaming that soon now . . .. . . a lover he'll meet.<br />A groom soon at Twenty . . . ..my heart gives a leap.<br />Remembering, the vows .. .. .that I promised to keep.<br />At Twenty-Five, now . . . . .I have young of my own.<br />Who need me to guide . . . And a secure happy home.<br />A man of Thirty . .. . . . . My young now grown fast,<br />Bound to each other . . .. With ties that should last.<br />At Forty, my young sons .. .have grown and are gone,<br />But my woman is beside me . . to see I don't mourn.<br />At Fifty, once more, .. ...Babies play 'round my knee,<br />Again, we know children . . . . My loved one and me.<br />Dark days are upon me . . . . My wife is now dead.<br />I look at the future ... . . . . I shudder with dread.<br />For my young are all rearing .. . . young of their own.<br />And I think of the years . . . And the love that I've known.<br />I'm now an old man . . . . . . .. and nature is cruel.<br />It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . look like a fool.<br />The body, it crumbles .. .. . grace and vigor, depart.<br />There is now a stone . . . where I once had a heart.<br />But inside this old carcass . A young man still dwells,<br />And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells<br />I remember the joys . . . . .. . I remember the pain.<br />And I'm loving and living . . . . . . . life over again.<br />I think of the years, all too few . . .. gone too fast.<br />And accept the stark fact . . . that nothing can last.<br />So open your eyes, people .. . . . .. . . open and see.<br />Not a cranky old man .<br />Look closer . . . . see .. .. . .. .... . ME!!<br /><br />Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all, one day, be there, too!<br /><br />PLEASE SHARE THIS POEM (originally by Phyllis McCormack; adapted by Dave Griffith)<br /><br />The best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!</span></span></span></div>
Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-83536183338172559752014-03-17T23:36:00.000-04:002014-03-17T23:46:16.298-04:00I still believe....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IsKtJP0Rwfw/Uye9u-zrY-I/AAAAAAAAArU/w4EVQpn8E88/s1600/Holocaust+quote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IsKtJP0Rwfw/Uye9u-zrY-I/AAAAAAAAArU/w4EVQpn8E88/s1600/Holocaust+quote.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I still believe...<br />
<br />
Hope<br />
Friendship<br />
And laughter<br />
<br />
The beauty of this world<br />
The sweetness of a tiny little baby, just beginning his life<br />
You have such sweet cheeks, Ryan Keith<br />
You are this family's hope...<br />
<br />
I still believe...<br />
That my friends love me<br />
That those who care will always be there.<br />
<br />
I believe the promises that are made to me.........<br />
<br />
I trust<br />
I trust in the goodness of people<br />
I trust that those who care for me, really won't hurt me...<br />
<br />
I love the time spent<br />
With friends<br />
Laughing<br />
Sharing our lives.<br />
<br />
When you touch my face, I feel so cared for....<br />
<br />
I believe...<br />
And I will never stop<br />
Not ever<br />
Until I leave this earth<br />
Of pain, and joy, and caring, and beauty....<br />
<br />
I believe...<br />
And that gives me strength<br />
Hope<br />
<br />
I will not live my life<br />
in Fear<br />
I live surrounded by hope and caring and laughter...<br />
<br />
In spite of everything,<br />
I feel so alive...<br />
Alive...<br />
<br />
I believe.<br />
<br />Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-244881964024484652014-03-05T01:59:00.000-05:002014-03-05T05:42:51.812-05:00This World I Live In...<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">"Come closer now</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">So you can lie</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Right by my side..." ~ This Velvet Glove</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></i>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">It's 1:45 a.m. and I'm still awake. I'm thinking about many things. Some things I must be a bit cryptic about for privacy reasons, others maybe not.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">First, my pending divorce. I recently wrote a very emotional and honest post, "I need an answer..." I want to be clear about something, though - David was never the right man for me. That may sound harsh, it may sound crass. But the truth must be told.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">However, that doesn't mean that David is a bad person. He isn't. He was never abusive or cruel, and he stayed married to me for almost four years after we separated. Why did he do this? So I would have health insurance and be able to continue treatment for anorexia. Even though David couldn't deal with my anorexia, he clearly didn't want me to die from it.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Yes, divorce is heartbreaking. It can tear a person apart. When David first left me, I thought I would die. I wanted to die. I had never felt pain like I did when I realized he wasn't coming home, and I never want feel such pain again.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">But I didn't die. Sometimes I wonder why, since I have a strong self-destructive streak at times. There was something within me that didn't want to die. And recently it occurred to me - I don't want to die. Ever. Whatever pain and hurt this world bring, it also brings beauty and joy and friendship and closeness. There is the silver moon at night, and the bright red sun in the early morning, and the sound of the birds in the quiet of the day. There is the sparkle of the snow and the glint of the rain and the light in someone's eyes as that person looks at you...</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">And yet, there is fear. I fear many things for this world, and as the standoff continues between the Russians and Ukrainians, I fear for war. For I have seen firsthand the destruction of war when I attended many military funerals; young men cut down, young men who had been full of hope and life. Young men who had families and dreams and wives and girlfriends. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">The world must try to avoid war. That may be a futile hope of mine, but it is one of my core values.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">And so I pray for this world I live in. I pray for peace and hope. I pray for the people of Ukraine. I pray that this world will be around long enough for me to truly live.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">As for the rest? I can only say I am ready to live again, and I want it all. And I will be fine.</span></span>Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-52845883825069744752014-03-01T22:46:00.000-05:002014-03-01T22:49:53.568-05:00I need an answer...You say I'm beautiful.<br />
You told me you loved me.<br />
You promised to be with me forever.<br />
Our vows said, "Love is patient, love is blind..."<br />
<br />
And yet, your love was NOT patient.<br />
I was dying<br />
Crashing into walls...<br />
Praying that I would die.<br />
<br />
So afraid<br />
Of everything, really<br />
Falling down the stairs,<br />
And yet<br />
You did not care<br />
You did not care enough<br />
<br />
Where did those promises go?<br />
<br />
<br />
Yes, I know<br />
You couldn't stand watching me<br />
Spiral downward<br />
Into an oblivion of anorexia and self-hatred.<br />
<br />
But where the hell did forever go?<br />
<br />
Was forever only when I was perfect,<br />
On that pedestal of untouchable beauty?<br />
<br />
And then, when I spiraled downward,<br />
I was left to grasp the rope of recovery<br />
With my fragile hands.<br />
<br />
I need an answer.<br />
Was it <i>really </i>me?<br />
Was I really the total and complete cause for the breakdown of our marriage?<br />
<br />
For years, I tried to drown my pain<br />
With alcohol, pills, and starvation.<br />
But nothing stopped it.<br />
<br />
And I was dying,<br />
Yearning for you to reach out<br />
And say,<br />
It will be okay.<br />
<br />
I need an answer.<br />
<br />
But I know no answer is forthcoming.<br />
I can't even get that from you.<br />
And I'm left with the feelings<br />
Floating around in my brain....<br />
<br />
It's me.<br />
Me<br />
Me<br />
Me<br />
<br />
And that thought will echo<br />
Forever.Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-30623802633967770552014-01-26T10:30:00.001-05:002014-01-26T10:31:32.701-05:00Thoughts on my Marriage and its end...That moment <i>just</i> before you are fully awake, when the world is still dark and it could be any time, any time at all...<br />
<br />
For the first time in ages, I woke up thinking about David and my failed marriage. I mean, <i>really</i> thinking about it. The weekend mornings of coffee in bed, the turn of his head just before he would lean over and kiss me, the sound of his voice when he would say, <i>I love you...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
And I try to fathom what went wrong. It would be too simple to blame anorexia, <i>only</i> anorexia; to say that my eating disorder ripped us apart and now that I'm at a "normal" weight, it is again safe to contemplate a new life and a new love.<br />
<br />
I'm not saying anorexia did not play a huge role in the destruction of my marriage. I do not know what it feels like to watch someone you love slowly die; to watch the weight fall off of her and see her <i>rejoice</i> at the destruction of her body and soul. I don't know what it's like to drive for hours one-way to see, <i>yet again</i>, your wife in the hospital, perhaps with a feeding tube stuck down her nose, feeding her the nutrients needed to keep her alive, but knowing she doesn't <i>really</i> want to be kept alive. Instead, death is her choice, but a slow death you must witness.<br />
<br />
No, I really don't know that side of anorexia, of eating disorders. I only know of its destructive powers <i>within</i>, how it takes control of your mind and soul, how it makes you do things that are completely illogical.<br />
<br />
So I really thought about David and my marriage this morning, asking myself - Would we still be together if anorexia had not entered our lives.<br />
<br />
No.<br />
<br />
As much as I insist it was anorexia that killed our marriage, anorexia was only a symptom of deeper problems. I developed anorexia <i>because</i> there were problems inherent, both in our marriage and within me.<br />
<br />
What do I mean by that?<br />
<br />
I think back to the pivotal year; the year 2007. I was the military reporter for a small-town paper. It was a year of deaths, and I must have covered six or seven funerals that year. Each one a young man who had joined the military for a myriad of reasons - an innate sense of patriotism, a need to get away from small-town America (and the area <i>was</i> small-town America, complete with no opportunities), the urge to see the world, a need to earn money before moving onto something else...<br />
<br />
Each funeral was closed-casket.<br />
<br />
I can never forget that, for I could only imagine what was hidden inside those closed caskets; what it meant to lock the bodies away. I could only imagine...<br />
<br />
I felt surrounded by death. I felt as if the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan would never end. I felt as if I had no words, either for the grieving families or for myself. Simply, I had no answers.<br />
<br />
At the same time, I was sick. Very sick, and part of that sickness included dropping weight. At first, I hated it. I <i>liked</i> my figure (and how long has it been since I've been able to say that?) I couldn't figure out why I was dropping weight, why my migraines were so bad, why the depression had gotten worse?<br />
<br />
At the same time, I sensed a distance within my marriage.<br />
<br />
It was subtle, at first. A pulling-away, perhaps? A protective shell? The way a person reacts when there is a storm nearby...you search out safety, you look for a shelter for the crash you know is coming, you become wary...<br />
<br />
Is that how it felt, David?<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I was working ten, twelve hours a day; covering funerals and an attempted murder/suicide and a World War II veteran who hung himself the week after we talked...<br />
<br />
2007 was a year of death, a year of ER visits and searches for answers and pain. So much pain.<br />
<br />
This was all before anorexia took over my mind. I still remember September 2007. I looked in the mirror at my wasted body. My doctor had <i>finally</i> found the answer, hyperparathyroidism. I looked and turned to David and said, "I hope no one expects me to <i><b>diet</b></i> to maintain this ridiculous weight."<br />
<br />
But of course, the seed was already planted...<br />
<br />
So why do I now feel that anorexia was not the sole destroyer of my marriage? There must be something within me, something that struggles to deal with the realities of the world that causes me to turn to such self-destructive measures.<br />
<br />
I am finally being completely honest, and I believe the honesty is what I need to embrace or I will never be ready for another relationship. I am not blaming myself; we all have flaws and internal struggles. But I can't ignore my role in the destruction of my marriage, I can't give anorexia that much power. I <i>must</i> face the truth.Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-55895488946075186732014-01-07T21:12:00.000-05:002014-01-07T21:12:14.825-05:00In which she breaks her silence...I am <strike>healthy</strike> no longer anorexic.<div>
I have family who loves me.</div>
<div>
I have a job that I adore, and that makes me feel worthwhile.</div>
<div>
I am finally rebuilding my life after things started to implode in 2010...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And I hate my body</div>
<div>
I <i style="font-weight: bold;">HATE</i> my body</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There's no getting around that fact.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And I'm angry about it.</div>
<div>
It seems as if many ED recovery blogs show recovery as all lightness and fluff. You push past the fear, you post smiley "Operation Beautiful" affirmations on your bathroom mirror, you do a lot of yoga, and ... and you are recovered. Slim, beautiful, worthy of admiration because you came through the fire and look amazing for it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What about the rest of us?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What about those of us who careened past recovery weight and are now tipping precariously into the overweight, or even God-forbid, <i>obesity</i> range?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We hear it all the time - love <i>your</i> body. <i>YOUR </i>body. And typically the person spouting that is still acceptably slim, slim enough for society to accept her, while not so slim to be considered anorexic anymore.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What about the rest of us?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Those of us who are fighting the Buddha belly and the thunder thighs; those of us who are not slim by society's standards, those of us who really are overweight and yet we are constantly bombarded with the message that we are to <i>LOVE YOUR BODY</i>.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't want to love this body. This body is overweight and tired and has high blood pressure. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This body is too-round and too-curvy and too, dare I say it? Too large.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Does loving my body mean <i style="font-weight: bold;">not</i> taking care of it? Have I loved my body so much that I've put it in danger? Did I listen to those affirmations too much, forgetting that loving my body might mean keeping it a healthy weight? Not around 155-160 pounds for a small-framed woman of 5'3"?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My ED doctor says I'm not overweight. My GP tells me not to stress about my weight.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But how long should I love this body, before love kills me as anorexia tried to?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And why is it that it seems as if the strongest advocates for "loving your body" are those who are slim, those whose bodies don't offend society?</div>
Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-14869526541848377852013-11-11T15:42:00.001-05:002013-11-11T15:42:00.221-05:00The Military and Mental Health Stigma<a href="http://www.healthyplace.com/blogs/survivingmentalhealthstigma/2013/11/the-military-and-mental-health-stigma/#.UoFBEvaCZE0.blogger">The Military and Mental Health Stigma</a>Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-54627760375404162872013-10-23T21:29:00.001-04:002013-10-23T21:29:06.028-04:00The Cost of Self-Stigma<a href="http://www.healthyplace.com/blogs/survivingmentalhealthstigma/2013/10/the-cost-of-self-stigma/#.Umh3yohIv48.blogger">The Cost of Self-Stigma</a>Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-24580994250813217502013-10-09T22:13:00.001-04:002013-10-09T22:13:22.751-04:00Violent Images: Media and Mental Illness<a href="http://www.healthyplace.com/blogs/survivingmentalhealthstigma/2013/10/violent-images-media-and-mental-illness/#.UlYNO1d-sFo.blogger">Violent Images: Media and Mental Illness</a>Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-59278703723405491732013-09-18T19:38:00.001-04:002013-09-18T19:38:14.013-04:00Mental Health Stigma: An Interview with Patrick Kennedy (Part Two)<a href="http://www.healthyplace.com/blogs/survivingmentalhealthstigma/2013/09/mental-health-stigma-an-interview-with-patrick-kennedy-part-two/#.Ujo5Yb2FNUM.blogger">Mental Health Stigma: An Interview with Patrick Kennedy (Part Two)</a>Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-4871072690636876442013-09-11T15:15:00.001-04:002013-09-12T08:01:40.008-04:0011 September 2001<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_ly2gUockIY/UjC85NXYRLI/AAAAAAAAAlM/f2YxCJ6kuUQ/s1600/9:11+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_ly2gUockIY/UjC85NXYRLI/AAAAAAAAAlM/f2YxCJ6kuUQ/s320/9:11+photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The sky was azure, that kind of heart-aching blue that only comes during the waning days of summer. The day was beautiful, full of promise and hope and just a hint of autumn.<br />
<br />
Like most people, my memories of 9/11 continue to be in sharp bas-relief. I <i>remember </i>exactly what I was doing that morning; the morning that change so much for all Americans.<br />
<br />
I was in the newsroom, finishing up a news story. It was Monday and most likely, I had been to a school board meeting the night before (that is one part I am unclear about.) Other reporters also were working, and it was the typical, hectic morning of an afternoon paper being put together. The editor, Jack, was laying out pages while the television played in the background.<br />
<br />
The first plane hit the World Trade Center tower. Many of us rushed into Jack's office, no doubt thinking about how this new development, this <i>accident</i>, would screw up deadline and possibly make the paper late.<br />
<br />
Then the second plane came into sight, calmly flying toward the World Trade Center, until it finally crashed into the building. I said, "That was no accident.)<br />
<br />
All hell broke loose.<br />
<br />
I was told to get Rep. Dave Camp's Washington office on the phone. I did, after swallowing several Xanax and praying. I remember talking to a woman, and then she suddenly said, "I have to go." She hung up.<br />
<br />
The Pentagon had been hit by a third plane.<br />
<br />
The next few hours seem to move in fast-forward motion in my head, each activity cramming itself against the next one. Rushing to the airport to talk to people. Teaming up with several other reporters to find and interview the airport's manager. Driving back to Midland, encountering long lines at every gas station.<br />
<br />
Looking up at that azure-tinted sky, wondering what had happened.<br />
<br />
I got home around 11:30 p.m. I sat in my car, staring up at the black night thick with stars. Something was not quite right with the sky. It was too clear, too empty. Too cold.<br />
<br />
Suddenly it occurred to me: the ubiquitous air traffic was gone. Nothing moved in that night sky except for a few faint satellites, slowly circling the earth, devoid of any knowledge of the enormous tragedy that had occurred that day.<br />
<br />
The night sky was empty, and so were thousands of families. Moms and dads, sisters and brothers, loved ones and friends — many did not return home that day. They were dead, mingled with the ashes and fire that consumed the Twin Towers and Pentagon and an empty, grassy field in Pennsylvania.<br />
<br />
I cried, hurting for all the loss and fearful for the future.<br />
<br />
I had no idea what impact these terroristic attacks would have on me, the nation, the world.Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-58736886329464304302013-09-09T21:13:00.001-04:002013-09-09T21:13:37.969-04:00Mental Health Stigma: An Interview with Patrick Kennedy (Part One)<a href="http://www.healthyplace.com/blogs/survivingmentalhealthstigma/2013/09/mental-health-stigma-an-interview-with-patrick-kennedy-part-one/#.Ui5yO9pYDqY.blogger">Mental Health Stigma: An Interview with Patrick Kennedy (Part One)</a>Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-80322945668284195042013-08-07T14:21:00.002-04:002013-08-07T14:32:03.943-04:00Inspiration Needed (Dear Anonymous)<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">An anonymous reader left the following message on a
recent blog post:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 24.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">She wrote the following: </span><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 24.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">"Hi! My name is
Morag. I am a fifteen year old girl trying to recover from anorexia.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 24.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I just discovered your blog.I am scared of dying. I
am scared of ruining my relationships. But I'm scared of eating more. I keep
saying "this is it, this is the breaking point where I get better"
only to go back to panicking about calories the next day. If you have any
inspiration for me, please PLEASE share. Thanks..."</span><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">I left her the following message after her comment:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><i>Dear Anonymous,<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><i>I'm afraid everything I say will sound trite:
you're young, you have your whole life ahead of you, you can defeat this
because you most likely have not had anorexia for a long time (meaning it has
not become chronic, as it is in my case since I'm entering my six year of
treatment.)<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><i>All of these things might be true, but I'm betting
that the eating disorder voice can trash each one and turn it around to make
you feel hopeless.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><i>Do you have a therapist? A dietitian? A eating
disorders psychiatrist? It's hard to know what to say when I have so little to
go on, and also do not know your living situation, i.e. does it contribute to
your eating disorder or is your family supportive? Have you looked into ED recovery
groups? I know that these groups are limited and it depends upon where you
live.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><i>Just know that you can recover, many people do. It
takes hard work and understanding that it won't happen overnight. Realize you
will sometimes slide back; this happens in recovery.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><i>Finally, you have to WANT to recover. I know that
might sound strange and not very helpful, but it's the truth. You have to want
to recover, and you have to be willing to give up the anorexia identity and
discover who you are and the things you can do.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><i>Please feel free to e-mail me at
angelaelackey@gmail.com if you have any questions, etc. I might be off the grid
for about a week or so, so don't worry if I don't answer right away; I will
answer.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><i>I will keep you in my prayers.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">However, I was hoping perhaps some of you might
have inspiration, too? If so, please share in the comments.Maybe we can stop
one more young person from being sucked into anorexia for life. Maybe we might
save her a lot of pain and heartache. I hope so.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Thank you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</dd>Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-68792218643994558342013-08-05T13:18:00.002-04:002013-08-05T14:46:02.118-04:00Witnessing a Love StoryI'm sitting here in Starbucks, sipping my skinny vanilla latte and anxiously counting how many calories this adds to my daily allowance. I'm cold. I'm tired. I'm depressed.<br />
<br />
I look around at the other people here. I am curious. Of course, the first thing I focus on is their weight. The young lady to my right is slender and gorgeous, and I immediately focus on my thighs. She is eating a sandwich, while I settle for my XXX-calorie meal bar. Did I mention that I was hungry?<br />
<br />
In line are more slim women; women wearing leggings and close-fitting tops; fearlessly order frozen drinks laden with sugar and fat. I am envious, and I do not like the feeling.<br />
<br />
I notice another young lady, also slender and possessing smooth skin and perfect make-up. I realize that everyone is able to pull themselves together except me, and I stand out with all my fat. I think.<br />
<br />
There are several men here, but I do not care about them or their weights. They are average; forgettable.<br />
<br />
An older man walks in with a bouquet of red roses. He is middle-aged, perhaps in his fifties, and balding. He sits down next to a Hispanic woman. I had noticed her earlier — also middle-aged, heavy-set, much bigger than me. This made me feel safe.<br />
<br />
I had dismissed her as yet another overweight American, one of many who eats too much and just doesn't care.<br />
<br />
She breaks out in a smile. A stunning smile, full of joy and life. She takes the roses, and gently grins at the gentleman.<br />
<br />
They talk. I watch. I wonder about their relationship. Are they lovers? Married? Is he going to ask her to marry him?<br />
<br />
It is almost too intimate to watch.<br />
<br />
Now she is showing him some pictures on her phone. Their heads bend together, brushing against each other.<br />
<br />
Now she laughs at something he has said, bringing her hand up to her chest.<br />
<br />
I do not know this woman. I do not know if she has ever starved herself, or purged her food, or been on one of a million diets out there. I admire that she seems okay with her curves and bulges; indeed, she seems very comfortable in her own skin.<br />
<br />
I envy that.<br />
<br />
But I doubt that she has starved or purged or desired to slice the flesh off of her bones. She is full of life, obviously in love with this balding man and herself. I bet she doesn't know or care how many calories are in her latte or cappuccino or macchiato. I am sure she didn't anxiously plug the numbers in her phone's calculator, hoping that she didn't go over the self-imposed limit.<br />
<br />
There are still here. She is sipping the last of her drink, and I can almost taste the full-fat milk and chocolate. I can almost remember what it felt like to have that cold sensation on my tongue, swirling it about my mouth, no thought of calories or carbs or fat grams.<br />
<br />
She tosses her dark curly hair, leaning forward as the man speaks. He also leans forward, and I am sure that he loves her for all of curves, that she draws him in with that smile and the life that shines within.Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-30162396798248874642013-08-03T16:42:00.000-04:002013-08-03T16:42:19.021-04:00Walking on Water<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NGoQ78uMA9Y/Uf1pM-9djsI/AAAAAAAAAkM/ZbXvYy7eHUg/s1600/walking-on-water.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NGoQ78uMA9Y/Uf1pM-9djsI/AAAAAAAAAkM/ZbXvYy7eHUg/s1600/walking-on-water.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
I am<br />
Walking on Water<br />
<br />
Skirting the Edges<br />
Trying to not let<br />
The fear<br />
<br />
Consume me.<br />
<br />
For<br />
1<br />
5<br />
10<br />
Infinity<br />
<br />
I have done<br />
Whatever I could<br />
Do<br />
To Please you.<br />
<br />
Nothing<br />
Nothing<br />
Nothing<br />
<br />
I am Not<br />
The Evil One<br />
Here<br />
<br />
I have<br />
Been Walking<br />
On Eggshells<br />
For<br />
<br />
LIFE<br />
<br />
When I was born,<br />
Did I ask<br />
For this<br />
Life<br />
Sentence<br />
<br />
I have<br />
Not<br />
Been Able to<br />
<br />
Walk on Water<br />
<br />
But does that<br />
Mean<br />
That<br />
I<br />
Am<br />
Doomed?<br />
<br />
I try<br />
To<br />
Fight<br />
This pain...<br />
<br />
But<br />
No Matter What<br />
<br />
I am<br />
Not<br />
Able<br />
To<br />
Walk on Water<br />
<br />
And therefore<br />
I<br />
Am<br />
Not<br />
Worthy<br />
<br />
------<br />
@11:34 a.m. - 334<br />
@ 12:48 p.m. - 534<br />
@1:52 p.m. - 542<br />
@ 2:33 p.m. - 550<br />
@ 3:53 p.m. - 558<br />
@4:09 p.m. - 566<br />
<br />
Each number represents failure.<br />
<br />
As I continue<br />
To try and fight this<br />
The Chaos<br />
In my Life<br />
Threatens to take control.<br />
<br />
Each number represents success.<br />
<br />
As I continue<br />
To try and suppress<br />
My<br />
Hunger<br />
This is the <i>only</i> thing<br />
That I can control.<br />
<br />
Because<br />
I will never be able to<br />
Walk on Water.Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-47063664793647372262013-08-01T19:46:00.002-04:002013-08-01T19:46:35.142-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eoNSG0Dr2_I/UfryQfI_JPI/AAAAAAAAAj4/ZPaJKyEH0f4/s1600/The+Long+Thin+Line.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eoNSG0Dr2_I/UfryQfI_JPI/AAAAAAAAAj4/ZPaJKyEH0f4/s1600/The+Long+Thin+Line.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
What happens when an ED recovery-minded blogger starts to slip?<br />
Does she go out and create chaos?<br />
Or quietly struggle, afraid to hurt others?<br />
<br />
Does she internalizes her fears,<br />
Or does she find a way to release them?<br />
<br />
Does she write her way out the pain,<br />
Trying to awaken from the nightmare?<br />
<br />
What happens when she slips?<br />
<br />
Does she pretend,<br />
Or rediscover her soul?Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-27144538028474320592013-07-29T15:43:00.000-04:002013-07-29T15:48:02.834-04:00XXXXXXXXXXX — Insert Awesome Post Title HEREDon't dictate to me<br />
Don't tell me what I feel/should wear/should look like/should be like...<br />
<br />
Don't tell me ...<br />
I should gain/lose/maintain<br />
I <b><i>should.............................</i></b><br />
<br />
I refuse to maintain an unhealthy weight solely so YOU don't feel guilty/worried/pissed/uncomfortable<br />
<br />
Your feelings are your concern, not mine<br />
<br />
What you feel/do/say/think/dream is unrelated to me<br />
<br />
Boundaries<br />
They are a good thing<br />
<br />
Get it?<br />
<br />
––––––––<br />
I am learning some truths that, perhaps, I'd rather not face.<br />
<br />
I don't have to love anyone solely on the basis that we share genes and biological makeup.<br />
<br />
I don't have to allow anyone to treat me viciously solely on shared ancestry.<br />
<br />
I have discovered that hundreds of miles of distance are necessary for my health, well-being, and sanity.<br />
<br />
My friends love me, in spite of the fact that I can be difficult, moody, and sometimes negative.<br />
It's those shared genetics that bite me each time.<br />
<br />
When does my obligations cease, and I am allowed to be my own person?<br />
28?<br />
32?<br />
26?<br />
48?<br />
<br />
I refuse to wait<br />
Another decade<br />
Another year<br />
Another minute....<br />
<br />
I'm sometimes afraid that I will suddenly wake up, realizing that I have allowed my life to be dictated by genetics and shared ancestry, choking and smothering me until nothing is left.<br />
<br />
Without getting into specifics, each time drama rears it's ugly head, I turn to eating disorder behavior to cope.<br />
I'm not blaming.<br />
It just <i>is</i>, you know?<br />
It <i>is</i><br />
<br />
No blame is definitely not an excuse, however.<br />
At some point, I have to keep myself safe.<br />
<br />
––––––––<br />
Explosive anger scares me.<br />
It sends me hurtling back<br />
Places I don't want to go<br />
Places I thought I forgot<br />
<br />
Exploding angry<br />
Exploding worlds<br />
Explosions and then<br />
BAM<br />
<br />
I can't figure out why some people behave this way.<br />
Don't they realize how frightening they seem?<br />
<br />
Of the four freedoms, freedom from fear is the most important one to me.<br />
<br />
––––––––<br />
<br />
And..................................<br />
<br />
I will continue to blog, but perhaps I will save my most personal thoughts for my new, anonymous blog on Wordpress. I'm not ready to share this blog with anyone who knows me; perhaps I will be someday.<br />
<br />
Writing is my release. I can't live without it.<br />
Writing is how I process things.<br />
It restores me to a measure of sanity.<br />
<br />
––––––––<br />
<br />
I ask —<br />
Who is using whom?<br />
<br />
The End.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-73969494074585289012013-07-23T12:14:00.001-04:002013-07-23T12:14:37.997-04:00An Acceptable Number?<span class="lyrics-line" id="line-14" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">I no longer can pretend that I am recovered from my eating disorder, if I ever was. The thoughts, the actions, the pattern of behaviors - all point to the fact that I am still struggling with anorexia.</span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">People look at me and think, "She's at a healthy weight, so she must be better." Scratch that. People probably look at me and think, "She's fat, poor thing; she really has let herself go."</span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">I asked Dr. S the other day if he thought I needed to lose weight. I waited to hear the hesitation in his voice, the pity that I was now at the other end of the spectrum. He answered with an emphatic, "No."</span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Who am I to believe? What he says or what I see with my own two eyes? The thing is, I don't know if I can trust my own eyes; they have lied to me so much during the past six years.</span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">And what about the number on the scale? The scale does not lie, it is an impersonal machine that really doesn't care what I or anyone else weighs. The bar slides forward and back, speaking to the fears of hundreds of women who watch, silently, praying that it would stop on an acceptable number.</span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">What is an acceptable number? During the past six years, I've hit a low of 91 and a high of 168. My body has gained and lost the equivalent of a toddler, except the only life that was lost was mine.</span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">I remember sitting in McDonald's a few weeks ago. It was hot, so very hot. A couple in their 60s or early 70s stopped in, ordering cold drinks. He order a chocolate shake, topped with whipped cream and a cherry. She ordered an iced coffee, and I'm sure it was either unflavored or flavored with sugar-free syrup.</span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">The message was this: men can order whatever they like, the world of food and its flavors are completely open to them, they don't have to restrict their lives. </span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Women, on the other hand, must rein in their appetites, and instead delicately sip on low-caloried beverages and pretend that they really don't want the milkshakes and other treats that are out there.</span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Of course, this is changing with a new generation, and men are also increasingly taught that they must deny themselves.</span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">This is just a little vignette, something to highlight the increasing rage I feel toward the eating disorder voice that taunts me.</span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">I also thought this: will I be her when I'm in my 70s, still restricting myself from all that the world offers? That is, of course, if I am still here.</span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br /></span><span class="lyrics-line" id="line-17" style="color: #404040; display: block; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: -20px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br /></span>Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-72262947169032378072013-07-17T17:12:00.001-04:002013-07-17T17:12:46.647-04:00Bad News — Especially for an anorexicTRIGGER WARNING — Numbers are in this post.<br />
<br />
I found out today that I am at least 10 pounds overweight, and most likely, because I am small-framed, about 30 pounds.<br />
<br />
I need to lose 30 pounds.<br />
<br />
I am speechless.<br />
<br />
I knew I was heading in this direction, but of course no one wanted to say anything to me. Who wants to say to a recovering anorexic — the eating disorder voice is still very strong — that she needs to lose weight. I <i>wouldn't</i>.<br />
<br />
But weight does effect health, and now I am in the position that I need to lose instead of gain.<br />
<br />
I had hoped that I might be able to move past weight. I had hoped that this, all of this, wouldn't be a focal point of my life.<br />
<br />
I had hoped to achieve recovery, but right now it feels as out of grasped as when I was at my thinnest.<br />
<br />
I can't believe this.<br />
<br />
I am so upset.Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-57660291782266613082013-07-15T18:03:00.000-04:002013-07-16T13:29:07.017-04:00Is complete recovery from an eating disorder even possible?In 2007, an inexplicably irrational and frightening disease entered my life — anorexia nervosa. I was familiar with it, of course, although I did not have any close friends who struggled with anorexia or any other eating disorder, at least that I knew of.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
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My first contact with anorexia was with a two-sentence entry in my Abnormal Psychology textbook. It was the 1980s, and eating disorders just weren't getting a lot of attention. My next encounter with anorexia was in the early 1990s, when I was hospitalized at the University of Michigan Hospitals after a particularly bad bout with depression and anxiety. There was a young woman there, very thin and pale, who was on complete bed rest. I later found out that she had anorexia. I scoffed, eating my bacon eggs, that anyone would willingly starve herself.</div>
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Little did I know that years later, that woman would be me.</div>
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I developed anorexia after a bout with another frightening disease, hypoparathyroidism, caused me to lose a significant amount of weight. I found that I liked being that thin, and thus was kicked into anorexia and five years of utter hell.</div>
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There have been many fits and starts during my recovery, when I would go so far, only to jerk back and start clinging to anorexia like it was my best friend. I became a serial patient at my ED doctor's hospital, being admitted eight times between 2008 and 2012.</div>
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I still sometimes ask myself, will there be a <i>ninth</i> admission?</div>
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I started working <i>seriously </i>on recovery after my last hospitalization. I was discharged on 1 January 2012, and days later, I slammed my scale against the trash can and tossed it out. I have not owned a scale since.</div>
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But eating disorder thoughts still come and go, some fleetingly, others taking hold until I feel as if I am smothering.</div>
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<i>Fat. Not so fat. Cellulite. Dimples............fatttttttttttttt.....oh so fat!!!!!!!! I wouldn't be caught.dead.in.a.bikini, said in a clinched tone. FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT, SCREAMING AT ME, GOD PLEASE STOP THESE THOUGHT <b>NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</b></i></div>
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<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
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Of course, anorexia isn't really about weight and food and body image. And yet it is. My life is pretty stressful right now. I'm looking for full-time work after finishing graduate school. My living situation isn't idea. I feel like a failure after the twin disasters in December and June.</div>
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It is characteristic of me to turn inward, churning up self-hatred, berating myself for actually nourishing myself as a normal human being, hating myself for no longer being a size XX.</div>
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But all of this leads me to think, will I ever be <i>completely</i> recovered?</div>
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I mean, the truth is, I <i>am</i> at the high end of the acceptable weight for my age and height. I <i>do</i> need to lose some weight. I <i>am</i> risking my health, or I was, with all the sugar and simple carbs I've been ingesting.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So how does a recovered anorexic — if I am truly <i>recovered</i> — address possible health issues and the need to lose weight? How do I do it safely, or is it simply not possible?</div>
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Or will this simply trigger another relapse? Can I safely maintain my healthy, get to a healthy weight, without inviting anorexia back in?</div>
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Does anyone ever really recover from an eating disorder?</div>
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Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-89076024952361925762013-07-06T18:10:00.001-04:002013-07-06T18:26:18.677-04:00An Open Letter to Sen. John Moolenaar, R-Midland<i>One of an ongoing series of letters I am writing to Michigan legislators about the lack of suitable employment in the state. When I receive an answer from one of the legislators, I will post it here.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
Hi John,<br />
<br />
I hope this finds you doing well. I wanted to share with my experiences since I left the Daily News, and hopefully help you understand some of the issues currently facing college graduates in this state.<br />
<br />
After I left the Midland Daily News in 2009, I attended graduate school and completed my master's degree in English Composition and Communication in August 2012. Cheryl Wade — I'm sure you remember her — also left the paper to go to graduate school, and she received her master's in rehabilitation counseling.<br />
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Both Cheryl and myself have years of experience in journalism, and I have five more years experience as a social worker. We both are intelligent, talented, and known to be very hard workers.<br />
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And we both are unemployed. Cheryl is currently working full-time without pay as a counselor for a women's center in Lansing, where she did her internship. I am freelancing for the paper while I look for full-time work.<br />
<br />
Next week, Cheryl will fly to Kentucky to interview for a position as a rehabilitation counselor there. You see, she has applied to numerous positions, but nothing has stuck. She has tried to find a job in Michigan — she loves Michigan and has family and friends here. But she thinks one year is enough, as I'm sure you will agree.<br />
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Today I applied for a job in Kentucky. I also want to stay in Michigan — it is my home state, and I also have family and friends here. But I did not earn my graduate degree to simply live on unemployment and whatever freelance or low-paying options I might be able to find.<br />
<br />
My question to you and all state legislators is what are all of you going to do to stop this "brain drain" from continuing in Michigan?<br />
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Some day, the economy will stabilize here in Michigan. Some day, professionals will retire and positions will open up. What will this state do when it turns around to hire new people, only to find the best and the brightest gone, employing their talents and skills in other states, because their state had nothing for them?<br />
<br />
AngelaAngela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-73393627327339387122013-06-29T19:18:00.000-04:002013-06-29T19:18:14.439-04:00An Open Letter to the Democratic Party<br />
<i>In response to the many e-mails soliciting my financial support.</i><br />
<br />
Dear Democratic Party,<br />
<br />
I have been a staunch supporter of the Democratic Party since I was 18. I have supported the party on several occasions, but I now am unable to. Why, you ask? Because in spite of having three degrees and 14 years experience in my field, I am unemployed and now anxiously awaiting whether my unemployment will be approved. I am part of a generation - or perhaps two generations - of Americans who bought into the hype that having an education meant having a better life, when in reality many of us are struggling worse than our person who had either a high school diploma or less. Where do we fit into the grand scheme of things? How can we build any kind of life? Why has our government failed to recognize an entire group of people -educated, literate, and hard working - that are languishing, either unemployed or underemployed and working at jobs that require little or no training.<br />
<br />
Why is the DCC concerned about this? Does the party not realize what a horrible, tragic waste of intelligence and talent this is?<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
Angela E. Gambrel<br />
Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6087514598714132464.post-47379757841828920022013-06-27T18:39:00.000-04:002013-06-27T18:43:53.872-04:00An Open Letter to EmployersWe're smart, well-read, irreverent, funny, hard workers, and highly educated.<br />
<br />
And we are unemployed.<br />
<br />
Ever since the economic bubble bursted in 2008, this country has experienced a level of unemployment previously unknown. Yes, I know that there have been periods in which <i>more</i> people have been unemployed — the Great Depression of the 1930s and the Reagan Era of the 1980s come to mind — but I would venture to say that there has never been a time period when so many highly intelligent, well-educated people have struggled to find gainful employment.<br />
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There was a time when having an education was key to a better life. But that is no more.<br />
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Now the key to having a better life, or at least to being gainfully employed, is ... well, I'm not sure what the key is. Somebody please tell me if you know.<br />
<br />
Myself and others did <i>everything</i> right. We graduated from high school. We went onto college or university. We worked hard and earned a degree, and some of us even went back and earned a master's degree. For all intents and purposes, we should be <i>at least</i> somewhere near the middle of the economic strata.<br />
<br />
This from the National Center for Education Statistics: "For young adults ages 25-34 who worked full time throughout a full year, higher educational attainment was associated with higher median earnings."<br />
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This from the United States Census Bureau: "Workers 18 and over sporting bachelors degrees earn an average of $51,206, while those with a high school diploma earn $27,915. But wait, there's more. Workers with an advanced degree make an average of $74,602, and those without a high school diploma average $18,734."<br />
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Really? <i>Really!?! </i>Let's see. In 1991, I graduated with a bachelor's degree in Psychology. I was hired as a mental health therapist/case manager — a position that required at the minimum a bachelor's degree — at a yearly salary of $25,500.<br />
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Okay, so that was more than 20 years ago. Let's move forward. I went back to school to pursue my dream of being a writer, and graduated with my second bachelor's degree, this one in English/Imaginative Writing, in 1998. I was hired as an intern reporter/staff writer in 1999 — also a position that required at least a bachelor's degree — at $11 an hour, or $19,800 yearly.<br />
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Clearly I was not playing the game right, as I was going <i>down</i> the economic ladder with each subsequent degree.<br />
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I so loved being a journalist — the writing, meeting people, feeling that I was doing something that really mattered — that I ignored the fact that people out of high school were making more than me.<br />
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Then I got sick, as long-term readers of this blog know, with anorexia. I had to take a three-month sick leave due to the affects of starving myself, and I wondered if I would ever work again. I ate and ate and ate some more, and was able to return to work, only to be faced with a buyout offer upon my return.<br />
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I looked at this as an opportunity, a chance to pursue my dream of earning my master's degree and furthering my career. I took the buyout and returned to school, and was awarded my master's in English Composition and Communication.<br />
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This was in August 2012. And my income? $0<br />
<br />
Okay, now I have to admit that I haven't spent all of my time since graduating searching for full-time work. I took the entire summer off last year and did some other things this past fall. At the end of February, I relocated in hopes of finding more opportunities.<br />
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Job hunting has turned out to be an eye-opening, soul-crushing experience. It is a game with no clear winners, because when I get a job, that means one, two, three, or more people lose out. It is a game that causes you to suppress the best parts of yourself, while bringing to light some of your worst traits. Traits such as competitiveness and jealousy and plain old back-stabbing.<br />
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Because everyone else is playing the game, and by God, you better figure out how to play it or be crushed and thrown to the side.<br />
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It seems like something mean-spirited and ugly has been set loose, like the life of each one of us has been diminished, and that we are only here to interface and produce and perform.<br />
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And I'm afraid for this society, at what it means for all of us.Angela Elain Gambrelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199876962091491591noreply@blogger.com2