The Echidna crossed the road. My husband stopped the car and I ran back. ‘Hurry,’ he called and I began to run. but the Echidna ran faster. He’d begun to hide.
Writing about my adolescence and my descent into anorexia, I’ve re-discovered what I’ve come to know. To truly overcome any affliction, the body, emotions and mind need to integrate the experience into the fabric of ones being. Integration usually involves a lot of avoidance.
I’m a master of avoidance.
I’m 58 and I’ve spent my life questioning. Lately, I’ve discovered that I’m still wondering how to embrace womanhood, feeling totally comfortable in my own skin. And I’m not alone. This post is a series of questions. It’s about my ongoing journey of me making peace with me. It’s asking why we continually want to change ourselves.
31.12.2017! Really? Another year is nearly over, but in my mind I’m still somewhere in mid-December. I’ve moved from a family which enjoyed New Year into one which doesn’t really give a hoot. New Year is about turning the page, about new beginning and promises. It’s a mixed blessing with its crowds, booze and terrorist potential.
For many years I worked in ICU, the Boxing day shift heavy with tragedy and food. I want to thank the 000 workers who never rest providing emergency help every day of the year. The Festive season is a frantic time for them.
Christmas begins earlier each year. Soon the Christmas lights will stay up year round, Christmas in July is becoming a fashionable past time. It’s about food and company and cool weather and food and cool weather so we can eat more food. Food centred celebrations combined with social anxiety pose real barriers for people with ED (eating disorders).
It’s terrifying! All that food and all the expectations, ‘Try this, just a little, but I made it, it’s an old family recipe, I make it every Christmas.’ I’m out of there if only in my mind. Christmas is a challenge for many people but those with EDs have another level of complexity to bring to the table.
They often don’t know when it went weird, their relationship with food.
What is silence? Is it peace? Is it acceptance? Is it wisdom? Silence is a choice. Everything is a choice. Silence or voice that’s the choice.
I love the Simon and Garfunkel song ‘Sounds of Silence,’ I think it sets the tone for this post. Enjoy.
I’ve discovered prose poetry. It’s exciting a morphed from as the name suggests. Since last Monday night’s creative writing class words and images and sentence fragments have been flowing into my already congested brain.
Are they helping or hindering? Things are loosening and unravelling inside me. I’m gaining clarity about what I want to say but it’s hard to explain the choice when it’s skewed. It’s hard to own it.
1974, that’s where I’m up to. Spring 1973 left the earth sodden under foot and the tropical air heavy and sticky. Life became harder and harder. The social isolation drove me further away from myself into the arms of my inner voice, the anorexic one.
Summer holidays consisted of the hype up to Christmas. Mama loved Christmas so the atmosphere at home lifted. The ‘Regensburger Domspatzen’ sang carols in German and mum sang along. And it rained some more.
Opportunities abound when people watching, new things to try or reruns with barbs. What happens when the alarm bells ring and although we should be excited? Why are these experiences with us? Done bashing my head against a brick wall, I sit back, retreating into the comfort of silence.
Thousands of stories, characters and plots that unfold. One lumpy afternoon ample fodder for a book or two. Weird stuff happens some of it almost unbelievable but conflict makes writing memorable. This poem came from recent seaside reflections.