I still remember learning to ride a bike. My first bike was tiny, bright fluorescent pink with white tires and training wheels that were permanently attached. I outgrew it fast and it was passed down to my younger brother who told me that it was not pink, rather faded red and also a motorcycle. It … Continue reading training wheels.
Right now I should be writing about Galenic theory and the Hippocratic school. I realise that this is procrastination in a charade of productivity. I just cleaned my kitchen and my bathroom, too. My hands are still dry from dish soap. I miss writing. Even my journal is more collected pieces of paper, scraps of … Continue reading mad crazy tired. (when recovering is not glamourus).
“Do you have any tips for shopping for a year 12 ball dress in recovery after gaining weight?” This question was sent to me the other day. Simple enough really, once sentence, one question, a string of words that pulled me back to 17, only to whip-lash back to the present. I started year 12 … Continue reading Trying to Live in a Recovering Body
Januarys feel like trying to swim in custard. Treading water, exhausting with no forward motion. I don’t like the uncertainty that comes along with the promise of a new year. Anxiety demands that I am in control, with every future step planned. Right now I am very much not in control. I’m desperately job hunting, … Continue reading Down Days and Drawing El.
When I was a kid, my siblings and I used to get sent down the local park by my mother whenever she got sick of us all. This happened often. We made good use of this time by finding other local kids to fight. Though I spent the majority of my childhood devising ways to avoid … Continue reading I have had the wind kicked out of me.
I accidentally reached the point where who I am as a person is synonymous with being stressed, which was entirely unintentional and not the dazzling personality trait I’d hoped for. Maybe we all should have seen it coming when my Mother used to say I had frog fingers thanks to my bitten away nails making … Continue reading A Bell Jar of Stress and Trying to Leave it.
I used to tense up when I was told I ‘looked better’. I was proud of my disguise, but I also felt a strange sort of disconnect between the girl on the outside and what I was trying to understand about the inside of me. I had this sick belief that I deserved to have … Continue reading Inside Outside. (I am in recovery, but it is messy)