My very first blog.
It's official, i am a blog poster. No longer dragging myself through the grime of myself 'blog' reports and kudosing here to yonder yesterday. To his a four this is my story thus far -
Somewhat of an oddball, plastered to the phrases 'be alls and end alls' and 'eh, it happens's the year 2008 took it's fair toll on me. During a grueling downward spiral i somehow managed to be dealt the hand of Anorexia Nervosa later 2007, with Over-Exercise[Bulemia Athletica] A complete joke to most people that knew me at all. Often being recognized as the 'amazonian' with a six foot structure, with the curves and the boobs and the attitude of a brat packed heartian.
In coming to grips with the fact what i had was infact killing me, quickly and very painfully.. contracting Obsessive Compulsive Disorder along the way. I was treated as an OP [Out Patient, for those playing at home] Since March of this year. Not taking Recovery Seriously, or the Eating Disorder [as you'll note; "ED", Bastard, Him, That.. common side names for the bitch that is.] wasn't going to let me take it seriously. I've set this blog up to note the inner scratchings of him, myself, irrational, rational.. journalism in brail kind of deal.
Not one to put things out in black and white, if you care to understand any of this. You either will, or you won't bother. Dare to say you've even caught up with me. Yes, i eat. Yes, i want to get healthy.. and No i have not ever purged. Unless you count the oh-so pleasent nights of head in a gutter outside National Hotel or Barwon Club.. Beaves.. Eureka.. Sporties.. My front letterbox...The car..Point being, i have lived in the 'recovery' mode.. longer than i have actually lived in the death grips that is Anorexia Nervosa.
It is, how they say it is. Incase you were wondering.
I still see a 'big' girl, in the mirror. I can still 'feel' the fat move around my body. I see no change .. physically. Oh i can feel a change, i can feel the cold at 30 Degrees. I have to sit on a cushion at the dinner table, because my arse bone protrudes. I don't go out, if ever, at all. At the moment i don't work, due to my recovery.
This is a long haul, the longest. But i can see a day where the 'voice' is no longer at the frontal lobe. And has the power of a gloveless mime. But till then, this wee box and all it's pleasent surroundings will keep me on a straighter than rough road.
Just another inkling from the inner workings of Lauren Danger.
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