Forty three days down. Nine to go. I am ready – but glad to have these last nine days to consolidate what I’ve learned, set up support at home, invent a new life for myself, and gain the confidence to know it’s not only possible for me to recover – or even probable – but I have to believe I will recover.
This morning I woke to the news one of our founding members, mother to the firstborn of the August 1996 babies (arriving early, in June 1996) passed away suddenly and unexpectedly.
Today I’m very sad. I guess it was inevitable. After 25 years of marriage I don’t normally blink an eye when spending time apart from my significant other – but this is different. We’ve been apart a month and will now be apart another 2-4 weeks. Which in the big scheme of things will become a blip on the radar, but today we’re surfing the blip.
One of our tasks in group therapy today was to “create three characters to live in your own ‘Land of Oz’. Give them each something to search for that YOU are searching for through your eating disorder (NOT related to weight). Give reasons why the Mighty Wizard would say that you already have what you are looking for.”
Today I am afraid of recovery. I’ve been in this place before – where I’ve felt the beginnings of change and then become overwhelmed with the fear of that change and what it might herald. so I rush back to the safe and familiar.
Well it’s been 25 days since last I wrote – that is a long time for verbacious me! I haven’t been slacking off […]
Wanna know what my anxiety looks like? I had an unpleasant moment at work today, then later realised I’d spent the entire day on edge as a result of that one moment. For the whole day I was slightly teary, heart pounding, wanting to punish or numb myself, and counting the minutes until I could get out of there. I felt frozen to the spot and terrified of opening my mouth – just hoping the earth would swallow me whole. This is a scenario I am all too familiar with.
On 19 October – 23 days before peace treaties were signed to end the first world war – Charles and Eva McDougall welcomed June Margaret into the world. A world where electricity and cars were yet to become mainstream and Tasmanian Tigers were still living and breathing.
randmother was called Peace as a child. She was the youngest of three girls – the formidable McDougall girls. Her closest sister was born in 1914 and grandma in 1918 – war and peace. That wasn’t her real name though – her real name was June.
My grandmother passed away in her sleep overnight. I’ve been caring for her the past ten years. On Tuesday she woke up, reached out and held my hand and said, “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” She was 98 2/3.
How easy it is to love. How hard it is to be loved… At the risk of repeating myself too many times, I […]
I may not be a dog person, but I am acutely aware of the joy, love and hope a beloved pet can […]
The quirky and delightful Mindfump has requested stories about supportive and inspirational individuals in the world of mental health recovery. I have been blessed […]
There’s a little glimmer of warmth, burrowing into my chest. And a chink of light, peeking into my spirit. If I listen carefully I can almost hear a heart-warming song. It has taken me awhile to recognise it – the song of hope. Unfamiliar. Really scary. Really positive. Hope.
I don’t know if love makes all things easy, but I do believe that combined with faith and hope, it could just make all things possible. And in 2017, I hope all manner of possible things bless you and me.
