Tuesday, March 31, 2015


Remember how I wanted to rediscover my passion? I was answering questions I found on some hippie buddha website about how to discover your passion and live a life you love and love a life you live and live a life where you eat various animal livers at each meal due to an extreme case of anemia brought on by an extreme case of the "oops! I have an eating disorder!" Oops! All Berries.

I answered the first question, which wasn't even a question. None of these were questions, now that I think about it. They were just tips. Hints. Clues. Oops! All Berries of Wisdom. The first one demanded I slow down. Hey, I don't listen to demands unless they are 100% irrational and coming from ED. The second one. Let's move on to the second one.

Change your story.

We all tell ourselves stories about who we are, what we’re capable of, and what we deserve. If we can identify our self-limiting stories (I’m not good enough; I don’t deserve to be happy, etc.), then we can begin writing new stories that are grounded in confidence and courage, and map out actions that move us from one to the other.

Good advice! I'll take it! Do I need to expound upon this? I guess self-reflection and exploration was my whole point in doing this... So let's see... I think the major story ruling my life right now is that I am the gal with the eating disorder, I don't deserve to be satisfied, I need to be pure, I have to work myself into the ground for even an iota of pleasure, if I do something "bad," then I can repent by denial. I can undo knots in my life by tying myself up in a web of restriction and overexertion. What a dumb story! But this dumb story has served its purpose -- it was a defense mechanism, a way to cope. Not the healthiest of either, sure, but I did what I had to do to survive at the time. PLOT TWIST! The thing that at first was keeping me alive quickly turned on me and began killing me. The whole "I thought I was controlling it, but it was controlling me" thing. Well, luckily I see this now. I really, truly, a million percent see this. See. But now I have to do something about it. And I am. I am making a lot of huge, important steps! I forget this often. Again, my perfectionism gets in the way. That obnoxious voice sneers and says, "You are in recovery, but you aren't doing a good enough job recovering. Can't you do anything right? You need to be perfect with recovery. No steps back. You are impossible. You can't do this. You can't control your recovery, but I know something you CAN control..." Shut up, you. Quiet. Give me quiet. Let me tell my own tale. Let me own my own story. You are not my story anymore. You are an important character in previous chapters, but now you have been either killed off or shipped to Siberia. A myriad of other characters are anxiously waiting in the wings. They deserve to be introduced into the story. They will add far more depth to these pages than you ever could.

Phew. I am wiped! These non-question questions are like mini-marathons for my mini-brain. My brain is not mini. My brain is a perfectly acceptable size. I hope. Ugh, I just made myself nauseous thinking about the human brain floating up there in a skull. And now I am thinking about how people eat monkey brains and get weird diseases. And now I am wondering if I should eat my monkey mind and wash it down with some cerebrospinal fluid.

What a feast. Thus concludes one of my chapters in the new section of my book. There are many more feasts to come, I promise.

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