Sunday, November 9, 2014


My head is clearing, my heart is opening, my entire world seems fresh and almost Dr. Seuss-like. What happened? Giving up prescription amphetamines helped immensely, yes. Yes yes yes. It was a domino effect, really. Stop taking crazy pills, start eating, eating makes the brain work, the brain working means I am less paranoid and isolated and more at ease and warm to other humans. And animals. I love animals again instead of thinking that they are all assholes. JK, I never thought animals were assholes, even while strung out on stimulants. Okay, maybe I thought certain yippy dogs and cats who shed too much were assholes, but that's only because I was the asshole, you know? Like, an asshole who was super great at alphabetizing and not blinking. So at least I had that.

But that's pretty much all I had. I didn't have time to sit in a hammock and, well, just sit. I didn't have time to listen to music and well, just listen. I didn't have time to paint, to watch, to appreciate, to pause, to think about anyone or anything beyond myself and what would serve me. All in all, it was the best of times for about 15 minutes and it was the worst of times for the rest of the minutes.

Then why did I continue to pop the pills? Two major reasons: addiction and appetite suppressant. My brain became addicted to the chemicals and my brain became addicted to the way in which it prevented me from eating. Finally! Finally I didn't obsess over food and what I would or would not eat at my next meal. Finally I could forget all about food even being an issue because, frankly, I almost forgot food existed. Finally I felt as though I had some control. And maybe that's what my eating disorder has provided for me over all of these many hungry years -- a sense of control. Yes, it is a false sense of control because yes, it ends up controlling (and killing) me. But up to a point I did maintain some control. It was empowering, up to a point. It was exhilarating, up to a point. It was euphoric, up to a point. Then you get to that point, to that top of the highest peak where the rocks are unsteady and the wind is fierce and the oxygen is thin. And you are thin. And you can't hold on for long when the winds pick up, so you shake and shiver and start to slide. It's a long way down. There is no net and because of this you know it can't end well. It never does, it never will.

Something inside of me clicked on while I stood teetering at the edge about to fall off. Something woke up and I looked around and I realized the severity of the situation. And I saw a raven gliding past the orange sunset silently. And I could smell the sage in the air that felt like a knife. And all of it cut me open until I knew how to do nothing but cry. Cry and climb. I climbed down from the point because I no longer wanted to fall. I held on to the rocks, blessing them for assisting me and supporting me. Funny, I thought, they had been there this whole time. They were rocks after all. They had been there waiting to help, to guide me to stable land and a stable life. Rock by rock, moment by moment, I found my way to the bottom.

But it wasn't the bottom in the sense that it was a pit. Oh no. It was a beginning, a place where I could look up and see the sky instead of looking down and seeing how I would die. I am not sure why I am speaking of it in the past tense. It is my present. I am still at the beginning and unsure of how to use my feet. I'll figure it out. I have rocks and ravens and sunsets and sage to guide me. I have food and family and friends and forgiveness. I have a desire to move, another chance, and eternity right now. I am ready, I am here.

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