Somebody’s getting Married

June 8th, 2018

I remember I was in a squat rack and it was Tuesday.  June 6th 2017 to be exact and I know this bit because I was scheduled to see Mojave Nomads play the Ogden Twilight concert series on the 8th.  My phone buzzed the notification of an incoming text message.  I pulled it from the workout band attached to my bicep and read a text from #3.

The Girl probably told you I’m getting married.  It’s on Thursday.  So can we switch days so she can go to the wedding and stay overnight to go camping?

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Still here, huh?

In just a few days National Eating Disorders Awareness week will commence.  Which means it’s been one year since I came out.  I came clean in the name of bravery, compassion, healing, and helping.  Or at least I believed those were my reasons.  I announced to my little world that for years I was ensnared in the hungry jaws of an eating disorder.  For a decade, I played puppet to a master whose commands differed so greatly from one moment to the next that the strings holding me upright were twisted and tangled and hardly even functional.  I spent years counting steps and calories; pounds and fat percentages until my body ignored my calculations and stopped responding to my efforts to control it.  And probably much like a teenager, it began to rebel and do the opposite despite my hysterical and erratic demands.  I put on weight and retained water; my eyes were puffy and blood shot from the strain of purging and my gag reflex built up a tolerance to my bitter efforts to expel any trace of a binge.

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Time out

I put myself in time out.  Like the disciplinary kind of time out in which you put your kid in the corner to get them to think about the what and why of their behavior, I needed a minute or a handful of months to reevaluate my goals in blogging.  If I’m being honest, it probably had a lot to do with the reason I presented you with, but also there could be an uglier, less altruistic reason.

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