My fat is a symptom of my loss of safety.  My binge-eating is a symptom of my chronic emptiness.  My scars are a symptom of my inability to regulate my self-hatred and extreme emotions.  My anxiety is a symptom of my fear of both the known and unknown.  My nightmares are a symptom of the abuse and terror I have experienced.

I am lost and I am shattered, but I am not over.

The fact that I am still alive is a symptom of my strength and hope that I can still get better.

— ♥ — ♥ —

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Empty is hollow laughter and false smiles; pretending everything is okay when almost nothing is.  Empty is pushing away the people who care about you and pining for the ones who don’t.  Empty is saying you want something real but chasing an illusion.  Empty is changing who you are for a kind word yet caring more about things than people.  Empty is a sweetly overstuffed stomach and a mouth full of bile and lies; bingeing and purging your way through another day while you tell others how worthy they are and treat yourself like garbage.

Empty is not knowing who you are or where to turn.

Empty is my existence much of the time.


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In my world, “summer” is a six-letter word that inspires fear.  I hate that the days are longer and the clothing skimpier.  Summer brings out some of my worst body insecurities, because I see so many other women who look the way I wish I did wearing clothing I wish I could but never will.  To be clear: It’s not their fault; it’s mine.  Having dealt with an eating disorder since I was a young girl, I’ve never had a healthy body image.  My entire life has been spent looking in a funhouse mirror and summer magnifies that exponentially.  Add to that the fact that I’m not a sunshine kind of girl and it’s a few months of misery.

This year I’m going to do some things differently though.  I’m going to go swimming and face my bathing suit-reveal fears.  I’m going to spend some time outside, during the day, and try to enjoy myself (with a super high SPF sunscreen of course, because as pale as I am, I’m likely to catch fire after too long in the sun. ;))

And I’m going to remind myself that we need the sun to sustain life.  If I can learn to not only tolerate — but try to help — bees … after years of panic … surely I can do this too.

love & light.

♥—- ♥—- ♥

this post inspired by: The Daily Post
{and also my friend kittycat, who is one of the bravest people I’ve ever met ♥}

Weekly Photo Challenge: The Golden Hour

[Quick note:  I’ll be away from my blog for the next few days, so if you don’t hear from me, all is well and I shall return.  Be good while I’m gone. Or … maybe not so good.  😉  xox]

Weekly Photo Challenge: The Golden Hour.

In photography, the “golden hour” is the first and last hour of sunlight of the day.

One morning I hadn’t been to bed yet and decided to venture outside and watch the sun emerge.  This was the view from my sidewalk, and I had to run in and grab my camera.  Anyone who knows me will tell you I am not (!!!) a morning person, but even I saw the beauty in this sunrise.  I stood there quietly, letting the beginning of a new day wash over me, and for that one moment let my mind slow down and felt at peace.

Golden Sunrise
Golden Sunrise: the beginnings of hope.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Nostalgic

This is a bit late because I had a hard time with this challenge; there were a lot of things that came to mind.  What I finally decided on was my first time at Girl Scout Camp.   These humid summer nights remind me of my time at Camp Ken-Jockety.  We would go to the bathroom in the dark with only flashlights, we had campfires complete with singing and ghost stories (my favorite!); we went swimming and I made a lot of friends.  The beginning of camp was rough for me because my father was threatening my mother at the time, and I kept thinking I had to be at home to protect her, so I was really homesick.  That’s why one of the camp counselors has a blue “H” on her forehead.  When I got home, I was so mad at her I wrote on her face and colored her lips blue, lol.  She was (I thought) very tough on me — I was so scared and she basically told me to get over it.  By the third day, I mostly had, but I never forgot the way she treated me.

And yet, if I could go back, even with her as a counselor … I would go in a heartbeat.  I wish I could go back.   It was a great experience and sometimes when I sit outside at night and listen to the crickets or smell wood burning, I remember my experience there.

So for the nostalgia theme, I present my official camp photo from August 1981; it was taken the last day we were there.  I’m the girl in the first row, fourth from the right — the one squinting, wearing a Mickey Mouse tank top and a goofy grin.   The handwriting is my Mom’s.  🙂

now I remember … I *was* young once.

And here is a little “clipping” I found:


Check out other entries at Weekly Photo Challenge: Nostalgic.