When you become a failure at death by suicide- too often it gets worse before it's better. It is not a matter of seconds. minutes. weeks. It is the subtle shift in something so great that putting words to it would be comparable to a cross country road trip on one tank of gas. I cannot tell you when Virago escaped, nor can I remember much about the monster who did appear- but that is where I rely on stories. On writing. On a culmination of words carefully woven together through carefully kept notebooks saved for the moments of insanity wherein I can later recall the haunting events. It is pacing yourself through treatment, and finding patient people to work with you when you close off because the monster is a terror in your closet. It is the essence of doling out the subconscious thoughts in a manner when they are ready to be dealt with because after enough trauma- you either dissociate or you quit functioning. Me...
I started this blog in late 2015 when I began eating disorder treatment. What started as a personal project, grew into a page for updating family and friends, and now thousands read these posts from all corners of the world. This blows my mind. Today, I consider myself recovered, but my work as an activist is just beginning. For additional inquiries, please feel free to email me.