The Clearing

 My memory from those days is touch and go. Some things pop out with vigor while others, well, they’re just not there. Or maybe they are and I just don’t know how to find them. It does that to your mind, clouds it over with a haze. But occasionally within that haze is a clearing, just for an instant. And clearing really is the perfect word for it because for that moment everything is clearly seen, the good and the bad, the beautiful, the startling, and the scary.

I was in the Chicago botanic garden greenhouse after a session (back when we did those things in person). It was still morning, drizzling outside. I was off work that day and didn’t feel like going home. I wanted to be out among the beauty so I suppressed the familiar weariness of those days and went exploring. 

I don’t recall every specific plant I saw, the names of the flowers, the themed sections that were installed to create a feeling of immersion. Now you’re in Japan. Now you’re in the tropics. But I do remember this one wall. It was located deep in the middle of the garden, where the greenery faded away to an open space, the vastness of the glass building in stark contrast to the jungles within. That tall, stone wall. I hadn’t even realized I remembered it until a picture of it floated through my feed, an acquaintance who visited and snapped a picture. There was no caption. I knew what it was and where they were.  And just like that, I’m back there. And I remember things very clearly. 

Note: I couldn’t find an image of the wall, so here’s this one from their orchid show.

All you’ll ever be

I wasn’t picked on too much as a child. Only a few times here and there. In preschool, there were these two older kids (a boy and a girl) who loved to accuse me of random stuff while we waited in line for our parents. “She said you called her Freckle Nose!” the boy got in my face. That is the only specific accusation I recall, but this was a daily occurrence with these guys. Seriously, that’s all they did. Stand there and yell accusations at me. (Side note: The girl I supposedly called Freckle Nose didn’t even have freckles. If I were to call someone a name, I’d at least make it an accurate one. I may have been four, but I wasn't no fool).

I remember telling my mom about them in the car one day, except I felt the situation on its own didn’t carry enough weight to warrant the desired reaction, so I embellished. “She slapped me!” I declared, conjuring up a sense of righteous indignation. My mom pulled the car over. She turned around to look at me. “Okay, if she slapped you in the face, we’re turning around and talking to the principal,” she said. The principal. I did not sign up for that. I associated “principal” with death for some reason. “Okay okay never mind no she didn’t I made it up!” I blurted out. I guess my mom thought I’d made these kids up entirely, so we never discussed them again.

I decided that the best way to face them was just to blankly stare at them while they yelled at me. I never got emotional or fought back. Just stared. I guess they got bored (or creeped out) because one day they stopped.

Two years later, there was a girl in my first grade class who would sit across from me and make mean comments. She would call me names and throw things at me (mind you, I was a head taller and could have kicked her ass, had I thought of it at the time). Same thing, I would just stare back. Honestly, fighting back never crossed my mind. Except when it did.

One day in music class, she came to sit next to me, a sneer on her face. All at once, I decided that no, no she could not sit next to me in the circle. It was kazoo day and dammit, I was going to have fun. She turned to sit, and in one swift move I pulled the seat out from underneath her. She started crying and the teacher got on to me. I felt a fierce sense of injustice as the teacher gave me the eye. I’d finally stood up for myself, and here I was getting in trouble. But here’s the thing: the girl never messed with me again. Worth it? Uh, yeah.

Other than those few instances, bullying was never a big issue in my life. And yet, there have still been times when I should have advocated for myself, but didn’t. Maybe I didn’t know how. I’ve always been an observer, a listener. Speaking is different. This is one I’m not sure I can explain, it just is. Speaking is different. Which makes it difficult to speak up.

When I was a kid in my mom’s car, I spoke because I wanted validation and protection. I wanted those kids to stop. It turns out, all I had to do was stare. For the lil bitch in my first grade class, I never had to say a word. I just pulled her chair out from under her ass and then picked what color kazoo I wanted. All the instances where I stood up for myself were nonverbal.

Unfortunately, this tactic only gets one so far. Sure, there have been times where a good stare or eyebrow raise gets the job done. But sometimes, speaking is a necessity. I'm fortunate to have a life filled with wonderful friends and family and coworkers. Occasionally, there is a bully in the midst.

What is it with adults who bully? I get that kids feel insecure, unsafe, unloved, unstable. But what about adults? Is it the same for them? Insecure, unsafe, unloved, unstable. Part of me really feels for them, empathizes with them, wants to validate them. The other part of me wants to say Tough Shit. You've had your whole life to face these problems and feelings head on, and whether or not you choose to is up to you. Regardless of your misery, there's never an excuse to abuse or pick on another person. Deal with your problems on your own time and leave me out of it. Part of me wants to say that, really say it. The toxicity of these people is astonishing. They drain you, make you question your sanity, your worth, your capabilities. Sometimes, one has no other choice but to get out and away.

I've heard people say that bullies never change, that it's all they'll ever be. I'm not sure if that's true or not. But I know one thing is for sure: I refuse to stand by long enough to find out.

The Things We Hear (part 2)

Yo. It's been a while. *Cue that one song* I was away but now I'm back. Ta Da! There you have it. So, I wrote a post early in my blog regarding the things we hear. "We" being those who suffer from an eating disorder. (Side note: If this fact about me is news to you and you'd like to learn more, check out my other posts!) The post discusses comments people make to us about our illnesses, our bodies, the stigma, and general misconceptions. Having been through a hellish few months of recovery, I'm hearing new things. And yeah, though the comments are different now, my feelings toward them remain the same.

1) "I'm so proud of you."
I want to start off with a positive one. I've received so much love and support from all of you, and couldn't be more grateful. Like I've said in the past though, seeing who all is in my life, this doesn't come as a surprise. My friends, family, and coworkers are all incredible, unique people. I'll never be able to thank everyone enough, from the bottom of my heart. <3

2) "You look so ______!"
Use your imagination here. Despite anorexia being about so much more than looks and body types, outer appearance is the first thing people tend to notice, both in sickness and in recovery. People fill in the blank with all kinds of things, almost always intended with kindness and encouragement. Let me tell you the one that gets to me though. "Healthy." "You look so healthy!" It's complicated to explain why this one drives me nuts. It's the acknowledgment of how I appeared before, versus how I do now. One of the symptoms of my illness is a form of Body Dysmorphic Disorder. Even at my smallest and sickest, I didn't view myself as unhealthy (despite what I was told by doctors and family). And if I'm being completely honest, that particular area of myself is still a blind spot, one I fear may never change, but regardless, will live with. Anyway, whenever people say this to me, I just smile and thank them, remembering that it's coming from their hearts.

3) "Now that you're better, let's...!"
Okay now this one varies depending on the situation. Here's the thing: Yes, in some ways I am better now than I was several months ago. But "better" does not equal "recovered". Recovery isn't a linear event that starts at one point and goes straight through until completion. It's not Boom! Done! I wish so badly it was. No, it's a big scribble. Or an ebbing and flowing tide. Or the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror. Or a plane flying through turbulence. You get the picture. And as I said, this one depends on the situation. There are certainly things I'm able to do now that I couldn't have done previously. I have to remind myself of this, too, to keep going, and adding to the list the things I'll be able to do. <3

4)"Blah blah DIET blah blah I'M FAT blah blah EXERCISE blah blah CALORIES."
While trying to remain gracious, I'm going to be blunt here. If you are aware of my situation and are constantly talking to me about diets, calories, exercising... I'm not listening. I can't listen. It hurts me to listen. Because guess fucking what? Every time I hear that, it makes me want to return to my illness. I miss it. It's just the culture we live in, I guess, the diet culture. I understand that I took it drastically too far for years of my life, and thankfully not everyone will end up how I did. Some people are genuinely trying to take care of themselves and feel better. They have my support, absolutely. However, if they're just running their mouth and indulging in this culture, I'm not listening. And another thing, don't fucking point out the nutrition label of something I want to eat, especially in a negative way. I've spent the past several months trying to break my obsession with nutritional info. When someone makes a comment, I don't even want to eat the damn thing, but to use it as a weapon and make it the last thing they see before everything goes black. And granted, there's only so much damage a box of jellybeans could do, but don't underestimate my creativity, okay?

(Side note: Right now the sky is a weird shade of yellow. Got to love tornado season in the south, am I right?)

5) "Wait, what?"
There's bound to be at least one.

6) "What next?"
Well, that's a tough one. I guess none of us really know what comes next. As for me, I'll be continuing at my former job soon, spending time with my lovely friends, volunteering at the Nature Center, and then several other options that have been catching my eye. Don't know the future. More than anything, I'm trying to continue in my recovery, and never return to that dark place that held me captive for so long. Hopefully, what comes next is freedom.
I love you all, and thank you.

The Race

I've never told anyone this, but...








I've always wanted to run a marathon. Just once. And after that, I'll probably never want to run again. I'm not hardcore into running, really. Never cranked out more than a few miles at a time. I prefer sprints. Giving it your all, for a few seconds at a time. To me, the number 26.2 would be like a dark cloud looming over me. "Hey, I've run 6 miles!" "Muahahaha guess what?! There are STILL 20.2 MILES TO GO!" (Side note: apparently the dark, looming cloud talks and gets a kick out of my agony).

Running a marathon appeals to me because I've always labeled it The Impossible. Sure, other people can (apparently) accomplish this huge feat. But me? Nooooo way. It makes me laugh even sitting here thinking about it. When the Chicago Marathon was happening, I was the one snickering outside my work, telling my friends how grateful I was to not be one of those poor saps running out by the lake. I mean it, they looked so miserable! You know why? Because they were running 26.2 freaking miles! In Chicago October! We ask, "Why? Why in the world are you putting yourself through this?" There are a number of reasons, really. Some of them just really enjoy running. Some of them are doing to for a cause (and have obviously never heard of a garage sale, or GoFundMe). And some of them, like me, want to prove to themselves that they are capable of the impossible.

I've been running my life in sprints. Giving it all I have and wearing out shortly after. Measuring just a few pulses ahead, failing to consider the entire course, and then having to face the consequences.

Here in the next couple weeks, I'm about to face an enormous feat and I won't have any choice but to slow down and pace myself. Sprinting is not an option. And I'm scared, because to me, it's going to be me facing The Impossible. And let's face it, parts of it will probably be miserable, taxing, never-ending. But if people can run marathons, maybe this isn't so impossible after all. Stranger things have happened. I'll just remember what that one turtle said, Slow and steady. (Side note: NOT the turtle from the first chapter of The Grapes of Wrath, though. Damn thing needed an entire chapter to cross a road. C'mon, Frank. I'm assuming the turtle's name was Frank. I don't know. That was one of the books I didn't actually finish in high school. I just skipped ahead to Huck Finn. Boy, was I in for a shock there. Anyway...)

A marathon. One of these days. And it'll be a big one. I mean, I'm even here researching on the Disney World website. If I'm going to be exhausted and miserable, it will definitely be at the place where dreams come true.

Pray for me, friends.

I'm sorry for my loss

I'm going to begin this post by saying that I'm still overwhelmed by the love and support I've received from all of you. Notice I say overwhelmed, not surprised. Looking at the people in my life, my friends and family and coworkers, it's not surprising at all. Each one of you has a heart of empathy, of honesty, of generosity. God, I could go on. My hands shake while I write this, at the very thought. With all the holidays going on, the words "thankfulness" and "gratitude" have made their annual appearances. Let me say, these words have been in my mind and heart for months, and will stay there for the rest of my life, I promise you that.

Okay, that's enough "I"s. (Side note: There's no "I" in Blog post about fear, grief, and life changes. Well, you get the point. Alright then, here's a joke: What do you call a fish without eyes? Keep reading to find out.)

When we think of grief, we often link it to death and loss. Webster defines grief as "deep and poignant distress caused by or as if by bereavement." Despite the term mostly being used in regards to losing a loved one, it seems grief is applicable to numerous aspects of life.

Change. Remember the last time you moved? The last time you switched jobs? When you became a parent? When you watched summer become fall become winter become spring? None of these are pegged as negative necessarily, but there seems to be a sadness that accompanies these things. Even if these are for the best, or joyful occasions, or matters that are out of our control, isn't there often a period of grief we experience? Like seeing something that reminds you of a friend that now lives hundreds of miles away. Or observing the days growing shorter and shorter. Or postpartum depression. When we experience a change, we say goodbye to how life once was. When things change, we grieve.

While it's important to not let our lives be taken over by despair, it's vital to let ourselves feel how we feel. No apologies, no criticism or ingenuity. Just let ourselves be.

I'm on the cusp of grief. I can sense it, and I'm trying to accept this. It's one of the main reasons my current health issue has still been at the forefront of my life. There still have remained a couple of options for me, but I had pretty much rejected them, claiming they weren't necessary. But let's be honest, I don't want to deal with the impending fear, and with that, the grief that accompanies it. Saying goodbye and grieving my life as I've known it for so long. Grieving the loss of control I've tricked myself into thinking I've possessed this whole time. Grieving the loss of this person that I've identified as Me, despite the knowledge reminding me otherwise.

There will be stages. They won't be linear, nor will they be predictable. We can't schedule them for our convenience. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. Not in that order always, and not only one at a time etc. I don't want to experience grief, but I also don't want my life to remain like this. With Goodbye, there can also be a Hello, or in my case, hopefully a Nice to see you again. While grieving, it is also possible to celebrate, to rest, to feel, and to smile.
Thank you.

(Side note: This is inspired by a beautiful article in the latest issue of Do South Magazine.)
(Other Side note: The answer to the joke is "fsh". Huh, guess it's better spoken than written. Learned this one while working at the Shedd. Still grieve after moving away from there sometimes, but also find so many joyful, fun memories from that place.)

Let me rephrase...

I'm not sick. I'm unfulfilled. What a state of mind I've been stuck in. "I can't, I'm sick. I can't I can't." No. I can. Yes. I can. That's been the issue. I can, but I haven't. I've focused on a label or a symptom to try to identify what it is I really need. I've been assuming there's something wrong with me, and that problem is my only source of identity. I've been scared to budge, and this fear has staked me into the ground and given me ample excuses as to why I am where I am. Why I am the way I am.

I'm not sick. I'm searching. I already have answers, but I still need more. That said, I'll never have them all, and that's alright.

I'm not sick. I'm scared. Nothing wrong with being scared. It's dangerous though, when that fear shackles you, imprisons you. Fear is a deep root cause of so many other problems in the world. A dark tree of peril all stemming from that same damn seed.

I'm not sick. I know exactly what I want to do with my life, a variety of things. Not one straight path. I know what I want, and I finally think I'm beginning to see potential, answers.

I'm beginning to see hope.

The search for peace

I can see it. 

It's not a crystal clear image, an exact situation. Relying on that could lead to a dangerous let down if all doesn't go according to plan (plans are fickle things, really). 

It's color I see, a plethora of blues and greens and brilliant yellows. 

It's the textures I imagine myself touching, soft fuzz and coarse warmth. Pails of cool water sloshing on my hands. 

I don't specifically see anyone in front of me, but I hear the breaths among us, the sense of community. There is no feeling of urgency, but one of purpose. I'm needed, and I'm wanted. And it's an honor. I don't imagine many voices, at least not in dialogue. There is communication though. 

There is love, and labor, and hope. There is freedom. Assurance. Deep sighs and belly laughs. Accomplishment and making a difference. It all varies. 

I can see it. I can feel it. And one day, I'll reach it.

Strength and the façade

     It's okay, even when it isn't. You are no failure. What you feel is valid, and you are not alone in those feelings. It does not matter what that person thinks of you (if they are, in fact, thinking of you). You are loved. Those who love you want nothing but the best for you. True, sometimes their idea of "the best" doesn't always match your own. It may be the exact opposite. I encourage you to push that aside and focus on the love that person has for you, the hope they have for your life, the potential they see in you. Anything else is noise. And that noise does not have to control your decisions, your life. You are the master of your own actions.

    You don't have to feel guilty for taking care of yourself, whether that involves cleaning a cut, going to rehab, seeing a therapist, eating a sandwich, sleeping in, icing a muscle. Why is it so normal to feel this guilt over such things? Do you feel you aren't deserving? Do you want to tough it out, to appear strong?

 That's a big one, isn't it, to be strong. I'm not here to tell you that you're strong. I'm telling you that you don't always have to be. That seems to be the number one encouragement we give people- "Oh, you're so strong." "Well, you're a strong person so you'll make it through." "Stay strong." … You don't have to stay strong. It's okay to release that notion for a while. What does "strong" even mean? Does it mean to push through no matter what? Does it mean to be tough? To hide how you're feeling and put on a brave face? Rub dirt in it? What does it all even mean? Whatever it means, it seems to be a hell of a lot of mental strain.

There is no need to compare yourself to other people, either. Odds are, you're receiving a viewpoint that is very subjective. *Social Media*. "Pics from our vacation!" "Baby arrived today, 7lbs and beautiful as ever <3." "I'm battling pneumonia and broke my ankle on the sidewalk today, but I still made it in to work. Like my granddaddy always said, toughen up Buttercup." "Those of you out there with your perfect lives have no idea what it's like to be me. Your so called problems are nothing. #thinkofothers #notallaboutyou." "He proposed and I said YES!!!"

These aren't all negative or anything. But put it all in perspective. Whatever they are saying, they're choosing to put it out there to be viewed. They want people to think about whatever it is, good or bad. And that's okay! It's fun to see pictures of France. It's wonderful that baby So&So is healthy. I'm glad you didn't crack your skull on the sidewalk, your granddaddy would be proud. No one's life is perfect. Congratulations on your upcoming wedding!

But be careful. These posts people make aren't formulas for life and how it should be. You don't have to contort your own life into these molds. It's fine if you aren't married, do whatever you want to do. No babies, no problem! You don't have to visit Hawaii to see something beautiful. And who knows, maybe one day you'll get to take that trip anyway. If you're sick, there's no shame in tending to it.

You don't have to be strong. Just be.

Madame

Life really comes full circle, doesn't it? Phases repeat, roles reverse. And some things never change. Tonight, I needed help. I was sick, weak, panicked. Tonight, I needed my mom.

Anyone who knows Madame knows she's the best. If you can trust anyone, you can trust her. If you need encouragement, a good laugh, advice, company, you can find it in her. This woman got her Master's degree in her fifties. This woman travels to her ninety-four year old mother's home every weekend to care for her. Every semester, this woman gives her students a mental health speech, testifying of her own struggles and offering hope that life can and will get better. Tonight, this woman brought her crying, adult daughter Chickfila nuggets.

Obviously this requires more detail. As I go through my eating disorder recovery, I experience ups and downs, naturally. It takes a lot out of me to avoid damaging habits, obsessive behaviors. All in all, good progress has been made. But, as with all addictions, we tend to replace one dangerous action with another. One of mine is exercise- cardio. If I'm not careful, I'll overdo it, quite literally running on fumes and not taking care of myself and giving my body what it needs to survive. Try flipping a light switch on without paying the electric bill. This has almost caused me to black out on several occasions, sometimes without even exerting too much effort.

It almost happened again tonight. What began as a peaceful walk at the park turned into a workout that my body hadn't been prepared to do (Side note: For the sake of your own interest, and my own sake as well, I prefer to refrain from giving details of my actual diet or caloric intake, but lets just say that what I'd eaten today wouldn't have fueled a fairy). I barely made it back to my car. I got in, and my head immediately fell onto the steering wheel. I couldn't hold my arm up to grip the wheel, it just kept sliding down with a smack onto the seat. My brain was clouded, and my legs were shaking. In the midst of this, the one clear thought I had was that I needed to call my mom. Some things never change.

I felt guilty, and embarrassed. This selfless woman was probably in the middle of stitching and watching tv after a busy day of teaching and grading and class preparations. And here I am, twenty- six, calling my mom because... well, because why? I knew why. It was because I needed to eat and didn't trust myself to do that. So I called someone I knew I could trust.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard her voice on the phone. It was a short conversation, one that didn't require much explanation on my part. She just said to stay put and leave everything to her. Not long after, she arrives at the park with a bag from Chickfila. (Side note: Yes, many of you are aware that I've typically stuck to a vegetarian diet for most of my life. This isn't necessarily related to E.D., but more of a personal preference. But dammit, if Chickfila doesn't have the best nuggets... screw the controversy, screw my vegetarianism, screw Colonel Sanders. Those nuggets are magic fried in peanut oil and drenched in bbq sauce. Excuse me while I go chant "tofurkey" in the mirror three times while spinning...)

Fear is a funny thing, huh? Different people have different fears. No matter how it manifests, the feeling is relatable. If you will, try remembering a time you felt overcome with anxiety, paralyzed. I'll openly (and embarrassingly) admit that these chicken nuggets horrified me. Not because I thought they contained poison or anything. Because I knew the real me, the not-sick side of my brain, would gladly eat them. And frankly, I felt that allowing that would make me lose my grasp, would send my life crumbling down. Talk about giving something so simple so much power.

My mom was amazing. She sat in my car with me, talked me through everything she got me to eat, and encouraged me. Around her, I don't need to apologize, or explain myself, or hide how I feel. This woman is full of love, more so than anyone else I know. She is not only strong, but she empowers others on a daily basis. Anyone who's met her knows this. Just ask any of her friends, her students, her coworkers, her family.

Phases repeat. I called my mom, she brought me food, and I cried. I felt like a child, in a way. But the more I think about it, I don't suppose there's anything wrong with that. I needed help and I called someone I trust. And that person happened to be my mom. One thing that will never change is that I love this woman with all my heart. Certains choses ne changent jamais. Je t'aime, Maman.

"What if I crumble?"

I gasped at the end, those words ringing in my ears.
    It was 2015, about two weeks before I moved off to Austin to pursue a career I thought was my dream. With this move, I would be distancing myself from those closest to me, and from a place that was (for better or for worse) my home. Instead of acknowledging how this made me feel, I ignored it and tried my best to focus on my goals, my "future."
    I was driving home from the house of the guy I had been dating at the time. It had been a fine day. I worked at the library, had lunch with a friend, helped my mom clean her house.   Everything had been great and I found myself wanting to drive off a bridge. Wait, what?
    I broke down. My brain seemed to malfunction. All of those feelings I had suppressed about my upcoming move just burst out. It actually hurt me physically. For some reason, I reached for my phone and started recording myself talking (Side note: I had never used the voice recording app. I annoy myself in my mind enough, why would I want documentation to reinforce this?) (Another side note: Wait, I guess this blog is a form of documentation. Whatever, you get it.) I had no intention of listening to it, or sending it to anyone, obviously. I guess I just wanted to feel like I was talking to someone, without actually talking to anyone, and without getting any response. I spoke of my fears of failure, of loneliness, of not having control. I worried about my future, and if I even had one that was worth living.  I pulled up to my apartment after driving around aimlessly for an hour, talking and crying and panting. Before turning off my car and going inside, I asked myself one final question: "What if I crumble?"
    Fast forward to today, to me sitting on the floor, clearing space on my phone so I can send my sister a picture of my new fish aquarium. I found that recording. To be honest, I remembered making it, but the content was foggy. I never listened to it, and completely forgot it was there. This six minute recording had sat dormant for years. I wasn't sure what it was at first, so I pressed play. My heart jumped at the surprise of hearing my own voice, sounding so distressed and sad. I kept wanting to turn it off, but couldn't bring myself to push the button. I had to know the ending, despite having been the one that created it. And there it was, the final question. "What if I crumble?"
    I gasped at the end, those words ringing in my ears. I sat there, haunted by the sudden silence of the recording snapping off. I wanted to cry, but couldn't. I haven't really cried in a long time, my body lacks the emotional energy. Which leads me to the question, "Is this crumbling?" What I've done to my body, to my mind and spirit. Or rather, what I've been trying to fight. Is this what crumbling is? In the recording, I didn't specify what it meant to crumble, but we seem to get the idea. Have I fulfilled what I feared?
    Maybe I have, unintentionally. Or maybe this is just a trial I'm meant to experience. (Side note: heavy fucking trial that it is. No pun intended. Okay, pun kind of intended.)  Honestly, it doesn't make much difference now. Crumbling or not, I'm not in ruins yet. I strive everyday to rebuild what has been chipped off, or blown off. No matter what, anything that crumbles can be rebuilt. Now, I think that recording has taken up space long enough.
Love and peace to you all.

An entire post of sidenotes

Various thoughts I've had this week:

If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around, why does it matter if it makes a sound? I'm more curious as to why a big tree suddenly collapses out of nowhere. Was it diseased? Or was it just tired of being a tree and wanted to try being a log with leaves?

*As butterfly flutters past* I wonder if it knows where it's going and why. Is it going to a predetermined location, like a meeting? If so, is it meeting another butterfly? Is it a work meeting or social meeting? Or is it going to a chrysalis for some Welcome to Being a Butterfly coming-out party? Is it running late? Do butterflies run late? If so, what was it doing to lose track of time in the first place? Or maybe it was flying the wrong way for 2 hours and had to turn around.

I've always claimed to love all animals, but I realized that this isn't exactly true. There is one specific type that freaks me out: animals that possess the power of camouflage. *cue the booing and hissing and "but Leah nature is amazing but Leah it's for protection but Leah chameleons are so cute..." etc.* Yeah yeah I know. Chameleons are cute. You know what else they are? Capable. Think about it. Wherever you are, right this second, you could be surrounded by an entire legion of chameleons and you'd have no idea. This automatically gives them an advantage to... I don't know... nor do I want to know. I felt the same when I worked at the aquarium and we had animals that would be right smack in the middle of their habitat and I'd have no idea until a rock winked at me (yeah, I'm talking to you, Cuttlefish). If it'd been a snake, it would've bitten me. Which also almost happened a few years ago while I was out hiking. Okay, I've made my point here. I just don't like anything or anyone having the upper hand on me. Even if they're harmless, their invisibility gives them power, and gives them options.

You know two things that sound similar but are very different? Chai tea and tai chi. How do these not get mixed up all the time? "Yes, I'll have a tai chi latte with almond milk, please." What would a tai chi latte taste like? Tranquility and inner peace with a hint of sweetness?  Maybe they're not so different. I mean, they both originate from parts of Asia. Asian food is delicious. Even the bad stuff that's been sitting out at the buffet all day. Still delicious.

Why is everyone obsessed with things that are "so bad" for you? "Diet soda destroys your teeth and bones. It's so bad for you." "Regular soda is loaded with sugar. It's so bad for you." "Why do human even drink dairy milk? No other animals even do that. Adults aren't supposed to drink milk. It's so bad for you. You should drink soy milk." "Soy milk is so bad for you. It messes with your hormones and causes cancer. You should drink paper milk. It's made of 100% recycled paper." "Drinking that much coffee per day is so bad for you." "High heels are so bad for you." "Oxygen is so bad for you." Gah you know what else is so bad for you? Your negative mindset. How about letting people enjoy their fizzy drinks or milk of choice or their shoes that go clickity clack whenever they walk or their breathing? Unless your name is Captain America or Michelle Obama, step down.

Are cats just mega-hybrids of other things? I'm not referring to felines as a whole, but just plain house cats. I think they're more than just miniature lions. They have snake eyes, and they hiss. They buzz like they're filled with bees. They'll stare at nothing and follow said nothing with their eyes, then freak out and try to kill it. So they're also ghostbusters. But then, isn't there something Machiavellian about them? If you have a cat, where are they right now? Can you see them? There's a good chance they've already considered killing you today, but then thought better of it. For now.

Why are there about 5 reality shows on TLC about people with dwarfism? We're definitely not short on those. (I will not apologize for this.)

Why do we act like babies are such miracles? They're really not. A miracle is something rare that can't be explained by science or reason. Babies happen every minute of every day, and have a pretty solid explanation. "Leah how can you say that? You don't even have a baby. My baby literally saved my life and gives me purpose and knows how to make 3 out of 5 vowel sounds and LOOK AT THIS PICTURE OF MY BABY. Honesty moment: I've always claimed to not be too keen on children. This isn't true. I've always said I don't want them, but really I'm just scared that they wouldn't have a good life and I would fail as a mom. I don't know if I can handle that pressure and responsibility. So perhaps it's for the best that this theory not be tested. I'd hate to be right, and by then the damage would be done. I fear creating a self- fulfilling prophecy. And besides, my body couldn't carry a baby right now anyway, and that clock is ticking. Shit. Honesty moment over. MORE PICTURES OF HOW MY BABY IS BETTER THAN OTHER BABIES. (Please don't comfort me.)

Even when I know exactly what I want to order, why do I panic when it's my turn in the drive-thru and stutter like a moron? "Duh... tai chi latte..."

What if it turns out that every single person got the days mixed up and it's actually a completely different day. A global mistake. Hey, it might be the one thing that would unite us all. It would also be a universal ice-breaker. "Hey, yeah haha I thought it was Tuesday all day. You too?!" And yes, dear scholars, I know that the international time zones impact what day it is and we aren't all on the same day so namaste.

I have a theory that the creator of SpongeBob SquarePants suffered a psychotic breakdown around 2004 and has been using the show as a cry for help ever since.

Who's idea was it to make ice-skates for toddlers? And why? Think of the time it took to make those. And the money that goes in to the manufacturing. And for what? For some young, stressed out couple to force their kid's little feet into them and hold their hands and slowly drag them around while the kid screams and cries and they all fall and the other skaters have to dodge them. No one involved has a good time. No one. I mean, do they expect some 3 year old Tonya Harding to emerge? Sure, some kids are dream- destroyers, but come on now. I don't actually believe that Tonya had full knowledge of Nancy's attack. But I do think Courtney was involved in Kurt's killing. I like her music, but I like Kurt's better. I wonder if they ever took their daughter ice-skating.

I believe some kinds of dinosaurs are still alive. We assumed they all died off, but what about the water- dwellers? There are parts of the ocean so deep that they remain unexplored, completely off limits to us. There could absolutely be dinosaurs down there.

What would happen if every single capable person on the planet jumped at the exact same time? Other than a lot of planning and probably 1,000,000,000 failed attempts because some guy in Boston is drunk and his counting was off? Probably nothing. But maybe more of that global unity I mentioned previously?

What if someone successfully made a time machine and went back to December of 1999 and somehow made the whole Y2K scare a reality? Wouldn't that destroy his time machine? Then he'd be stuck there. Would we send him as our national hero? Or would we all go back somehow? Think of the things we could do if we just reset back to 2000 and started over! It'd be the land of milk and honey, and overalls and skorts, and SpongeBob pre-breakdown.

Just some thoughts.

My boy

      Apparently today is National Dog Day. It's not that I don't care, or am uninvested in such matters (Side note: The latter isn't entirely true. There are so many National ______ Days that I don't bother keeping up). But I'll be honest. For me, every day is National Dog Day. How could it not be, with a dog like Charley?
       There's never been a dog as loyal, protective, comforting, or charismatic as Charley. While I read on the back patio, he bears the heat to sit with me and keep me company. When I leave for work, he escorts me to the door and watches while I drive away. When it's time for bed, there he is, lying in the doorway to my room. He senses my feelings. When I'm having a rough night, he sits by me on the floor, his paw on my leg. When the anxiety is strong, he comes from another room and presses himself to me, literally offering support when I feel like I can't even stand.
       He wears his heart on his sleeve (Side note: not an actual sleeve. I idolized Elle Woods as much as the next gal, but not enough to dress my dog). You can read this dog's mind, I swear. His nature is serious, alert, assertive. But he has fun, too. This dog loves walks. He hears the jingle of the leash from the other side of the house. He gets mega hyped up, to the point of skidding on the tile and crashing into *insert object that probably shouldn't be crashed into here*. (Side note: Now is as good a time as any to mention he weighs 100lbs).
      Is he perfect? No.  God help me if this dog gets out accidentally and I'm sent out on a 3 hour trek to retrieve him while also racing to save the lives of the unassuming ducks at the neighborhood pond. God help the neighbors when he barks at the invisible Pegasus in the sky or whatever it is at 7am and has to make sure the rest of the world is aware. God help visitors when he takes it upon himself to perform thorough physical examinations at the door.
      I truly believe that animals and humans are meant to connect. Charley serves as a reminder to live with purpose, whatever that may be. He's a reminder of what matters and what doesn't. He inspires joy and vigor, love and courage. To know him is to adore him. Is he perfect? No. But neither am I (I've given my stance on perfection and its relativity). But Charley is the perfect dog for me. And while he has no certification, he's a support dog if there ever was one.

Oh yeah, the other dog, Sam, is...well...Sam <3

War Zone

*This piece was inspired by my friend Jordan, who suggested I write a post regarding the daily thoughts of someone with an eating disorder.*

Even dreaming, the thoughts are there. Do dream calories count? Don't be stupid. I'm not stupid, I'm just scared. Okay wake up. Ignore the pang, it's not there. Such a pretty morning! I hear the woodpeckers. They're getting their breakfast. None for me, never for me, not yet, eventually? It's wrong it's wrong everything's wrong, how could it be remedied?

So tired, but slept alright, practically all through the night. But it was weak, I feel weak, but time to get up on my feet. Whoa head rush, too fast too fast! Luckily, the spell won't last. Wrist is here, rib is there, hipbone here, spinal there. But wait, did I feel it right, touch it enough, did it change in the night? Better double check triple check woodpecker PECK PECK PECK I get it! You like your food damn now I'm in a mood. Already it's been a long day, it's going yet! Bet woodpeckers don't think this way.

Got to get dressed. God help me. Everything is alright, it's okay Leah. Something simple and unassuming. This or that? This or that? This and this? That not that! Why does it matter, no one cares. But I do, and I wonder why. This looks wrong, I look wrong. I can't go out in this. Layer up, it's a cold one! At least pretend it is. Hide hide stay inside. It's not even nine o'clock. Can't eat till after noon.

There goes my phone. Great, a distraction! Someone wants to talk to me oh wait nope junk call, yes I'm satisfied with my bank goodbye. Hey, there it goes again. This time it's a friend! "It'd be great to see you too. Meet for lunch? That'd be awesome, see ya then!" Click. Oh shit. What have I done? Have I set myself up? No it's going to be fun. We're going to have fun, dammit!  I need coffee to get through this.

Alright, so meeting X at X location at X time XXX. Gives me time to plan. Google menu, nutrition facts. Practice ordering on the spot "Oh this looks good. I guess I'll go with that..." Why am I sitting while I'm planning? Sitting is bad, I don't get to sit. Up up up. Oh what, you're tired? More coffee coffee! Walk around, get blood flowing. Shut up and let me be, please!

Out of the house, I need fresh air. Gorgeous day, sunny or not. I'll drive around some, library, window shop. Drive by my favorite spot in town. Too bad it takes so much energy to hike. I like it, I miss it. Tried it last week, barely made it. Blame it on the Arkansas heat. I'm not weak. Not weak. Not weak. God I feel sick, nauseous, light in the head. Always comes out of nowhere. Back to bed? No! What, and accomplish nothing? Useless useless. Come now, you're fine! Live your life, it's alright! Relax, please just try. It doesn't have to be like this.

A snack, okay, no harm in that. Take a bite, just one bite. Not lunch time not lunch time! Out out spit it out! Gurgle gurgle. Try again. Nope won't work. Body betrays itself. Who's really in control?

Meeting with Friend! Yay this'll be great. Problem? Psh nah not here. It's alllllll gooooood ohhhhhhh  it smells amazing in here. Look at it all. It's perfect. People are smiling, food is sizzling, Friend is waving, and me? I'm dizzy. Room is spinning. It's all too much to bear. Get it together, Leah, come on! It's just food, just life, now get over there.

Do they know? My friends, I mean. Do they know what this kind of thing does to me? No reason they would, no reason they should. It's all on me. All on me. They can't even tell, they have no idea. All on me. All on me. But it's really not me, but a separate voice, one that is so loud I'm left with ears ringing, deaf.

Jump ahead, food is here. Let Friend take first bite. Don't dive in. Be cool. "Oh yeah, it's good!" Best romaine I've ever had. The guy to my left got some cheesy bread thing. The girl to my right, pasta with an extra side of Oh-my-god-whatever-it-is-it-looks-amazing. Must be nice, to be so free. Will that feeling ever come to me? Life is meant to be enjoyed, I preach, yet never practice this very thing. Holding judgment for no one else. They deserve freedom, joy. Live a little. Hypocrite. Hippo. No, no! Stop. It's more than that. Not my weight, the carbs, the fat. It's more than that...

Singing? Someone's birthday, a party! They're bringing out a cake. That's sweet. It looks delicious, chocolatey. I haven't had a birthday cake in years. Ohhhhh poor me. Shut up, Leah, and sing.

Time to part ways, dear Friend. Hug, kiss, till we meet again! Get in the car. Why dammit why? Why do I feel I want to cry? Nothing's wrong, Leah you're fine. Anyway, too fatigued to cry. Crying is work. Emotions are energy. None to spare, not here.

Touch stomach, feel sides. Are they the same? Hands still fit around thigh. It's okay, you're okay. I hate feeling full, the food in my stomach. Don't get sick. You're already sick. Don't make it worse. Take care, be gentle with yourself. You won't pull over, don't pull over. The water towers. Count the towers. Push away the guilt, ignore it's power. It's not the food, you know that.

Speaking of power, time for work. How will I make it through the first hour? I'm tired, I'm groggy, my mind was once clear but now it's cloudy. It's weighed down so much, perhaps if I were lighter the fog would lift. Leah, you know better than that. And yet...

I've become a prisoner, and the prison is me. After all this, it's still a mystery. It's more than the food, more than my body, more than poor image, "society." It's not to be skinny, not pride nor vanity. It's a product of searching for identity. It's a way to be weightless, or to try at least, to make the mental baggage more of an ease. Makes no sense but it really does. Yet the lighter I get, the heavier I become. I've shut myself up, but not for good. Luckily, I refuse to swallow the key.