ED

The disordered voice has been extremely loud today. I guess the good thing is that I actually realize it's disordered.

• I deserve to be well and happy.
• I am not fat and lazy.
• I need the prozac.
• I really do have a mental illness.
• I'm not kidding myself; I have the capacity to be healthy.
• Therapy is a good use of time and money.
• It's not weird to depend on a dog as much as I depend on Grace.

Just a few of the statements I've made out loud to counter the silent voice that tries to convince me that I'm not worthy, that there's nothing wrong with me, that I'm more messed up now than ever.

I'm glad it's time for bed, and that tomorrow is a brand new gift.

Ash Wednesday

This is the first Ash Wednesday that I haven't attended church services in years. I always found comfort for some reason in the solemnness of the service, the act of repentance, confessing, sacrificing, denying oneself.

The forty days of lent almost seemed like a time when my mental illness was appropriate. Giving up food, cutting, letting the sadness engulf me seemed okay in this time of mourning, knowing that my sins had caused this need for the ultimate sacrifice. Now I know that my behaviors were more self-indulgent than sacrificial even though the feelings weren't exactly joyful.

Last year, new into my recovery, I gave up my eating disordered behaviors as my sacrifice for Lent. . . the opposite of what I had done in the past. That decision allowed me to establish healthy habits, without having to completely say goodbye to an illness that had cared for me so long.

This year is different yet again. I skipped the solemn service. I ate supper and a peanut butter cookie. I listened to music and played with my dog. I even decided that giving up the mental illness wouldn't be much of a sacrifice this year, since I indulge in it so seldom.

So, I think I'll just go with the Easter theme this year and put the Lenten season on the shelf. My illness has caused me to sacrifice too much for too long. God is good. For the next forty days, I'm going to rejoice in that fact.

Lessons Learned in the Snow

1. Snow on the weekends is wasted snow.

Even at 47, knowing that the missed days will eventually have to be made up, there's just something exciting about seeing your school's name on the Morning News listed under CLOSED.

2. If you get up at 5:30 to take a walk, it's guaranteed that your footprints will be the first in the snow.

There was a time in my life that I worked very hard at leaving no evidence that I had taken up space. Now I take satisfaction in the mess Grace and I create, especially in the snow.

3. It's easier to trudge through the deep snow than making your way on the shoveled spots where only ice remains.

As with most things, it's when we get a little cocky in our stride that we find ourselves flat on our butts.

4. Watching snow fall from the sky is much more interesting than the American Revolution.

So. . . . my 5th graders and I enjoyed the snow and saved Paul Revere for another day. They are my teachers when it comes to living in the present.

5. Walking next to someone, whether a friend or dog, is much more satisfying, much more safe, than walking in front of or behind the other, especially when the path is snowy.

6. The garage may be my favorite room in the house.

A warm car on a cold morning, even with snow on the ground, can make all the difference.

7. Poop is easier to scoop in the snow.

It's kind of like chasing nasty tasting cough syrup with a glass of orange juice, or holding your mother's hand when you're sick. Mixing something good with something bad makes it all a little bit more tolerable.

8. "Too much of a good thing" is a true statement.

. . . unless of course, that good thing is what keeps you sane.