Decent into November

Why do I feel myself losing touch? I don't understand why winter does this to me. Is it the simple establishing operation of impending cold and stories of my past? Why am I still so attached to my past?

Summer brings warmth, a sense of home, and a foundation for peace. Summer is beautiful and friendly, it does not lie. (Well, hold on. I take that back. This is Michigan afterall.) For the most part, if you look out the window and the sun is bright - chances are that if you step outside to check the temp, it's going to feel alright.

Winter is gorgeous, and in my opinion more beautiful that all other seasons. But winter is extremely deceptive, cold, frigid, deadly. I remember, years ago, while in the very midst of losing my mind, looking out my frosty bedroom window. Breath fogging up the glass. Watching two ravens flying directly overhead. Circling right over me, as if I was their prey. Gifted with some knowledge of spiritual metaphors, I knew exactely what this symbol meant. They were telling me a story about my destiny, if I was to let go. Just waiting for me to give up.

That image still haunts me and it only comes to mind this time of year. It serves as a spiritual warning, "Don't go there." I get this sick sensation of admiration for all that I stand against, sickly thin waif models and size 2 CK jeans. A yearning to pick up a copy of Vogue and flip through the ads while degrading my body, knowing exactely how to manipulate my own thoughts and behavior. I remember the smells of perfumes in stores and the overwhelming joy I felt - feeling light and disassociated with real-life. Is this lust for thinness pure selfishness? Is it an escape? Probably a little bit of both. Is it something I can erase from my memory?

I wish.

But no. If I find a way to "unlearn" English, I'll let cha'all know. Beauty ideals are a part of our neuro-circuitry, hard-wired into female minds across Westernized (and now many Eastern) nations. I hate that it is a part of me. I hate that when life hits hard, my only escape is this yearning to be thin. But then again, what is the ultimate goal? To be recognized. To gain attention. To feel loved.

Anorexia accomplishes the attention part. WAKE UP. It will never NEVER make any human being feel loved. It leaves you feeling more alone than ever. The mind driving you to believe that maybe someone will love you when you are sick, in bed, with a feeding tube. No. You will not feel ANYTHING. Not love. hate. passion. joy. excitement. sadness. Complete emptiness. And when you let go, you don't care about the ravens circling overhead.

So is that something that I want? No. So what do I do?

Face life and feel it. Because if I don't feel the bad, I'm not going to feel the good. Would I rather be empty and void?

Or completely and utterly bipolar?

The lows are horrible. More disturbing in mental imagery than what you could ever imagine. Visions of death, brutal murder, hopelessness, and demons devouring myself. Nightmares and racing heart. Cold, lonely, exhausted.

The highs are ok. But the highs usually consist of compulsive exercise. A hurricane of ideas. Random conversations in my mind. Addiction to new clothes (nothing new). Starting 5 different book and magazine ideas at once. Passionate, exuberant, and hyper. Funny, always weird.

Today I'll conclude with what I always tell myself when these feelings hit.


"Go into yourself and test the deeps in which your life takes rise; at its source you will find the answer to the question whether you must create. Accept it, just as it sounds, without inquiring into it. Perhaps it will turn out that you are called to be an artist. Then take that destiny upon yourself and bear it, its burden and its greatness, without ever asking what recompense might come from outside." R.M. Rilke

So it is a burden. But, perhaps something I'm meant to bear. This insanity, this depression, these highs and lows...all of it meant for a reason? Modern medicine deems not, but my spiritual side detests such notions. In that medicating my "disease" would only supress it. It would still linger. To struggle and battle it out is more my style. I don't like to be thought of as let off easy. But, my own mind does truly scare me at times.

Decent into November

Why do I feel myself losing touch? I don't understand why winter does this to me. Is it the simple establishing operation of impending cold and stories of my past? Why am I still so attached to my past?

Summer brings warmth, a sense of home, and a foundation for peace. Summer is beautiful and friendly, it does not lie. (Well, hold on. I take that back. This is Michigan afterall.) For the most part, if you look out the window and the sun is bright - chances are that if you step outside to check the temp, it's going to feel alright.

Winter is gorgeous, and in my opinion more beautiful that all other seasons. But winter is extremely deceptive, cold, frigid, deadly. I remember, years ago, while in the very midst of losing my mind, looking out my frosty bedroom window. Breath fogging up the glass. Watching two ravens flying directly overhead. Circling right over me, as if I was their prey. Gifted with some knowledge of spiritual metaphors, I knew exactely what this symbol meant. They were telling me a story about my destiny, if I was to let go. Just waiting for me to give up.

That image still haunts me and it only comes to mind this time of year. It serves as a spiritual warning, "Don't go there." I get this sick sensation of admiration for all that I stand against, sickly thin waif models and size 2 CK jeans. A yearning to pick up a copy of Vogue and flip through the ads while degrading my body, knowing exactely how to manipulate my own thoughts and behavior. I remember the smells of perfumes in stores and the overwhelming joy I felt - feeling light and disassociated with real-life. Is this lust for thinness pure selfishness? Is it an escape? Probably a little bit of both. Is it something I can erase from my memory?

I wish.

But no. If I find a way to "unlearn" English, I'll let cha'all know. Beauty ideals are a part of our neuro-circuitry, hard-wired into female minds across Westernized (and now many Eastern) nations. I hate that it is a part of me. I hate that when life hits hard, my only escape is this yearning to be thin. But then again, what is the ultimate goal? To be recognized. To gain attention. To feel loved.

Anorexia accomplishes the attention part. WAKE UP. It will never NEVER make any human being feel loved. It leaves you feeling more alone than ever. The mind driving you to believe that maybe someone will love you when you are sick, in bed, with a feeding tube. No. You will not feel ANYTHING. Not love. hate. passion. joy. excitement. sadness. Complete emptiness. And when you let go, you don't care about the ravens circling overhead.

So is that something that I want? No. So what do I do?

Face life and feel it. Because if I don't feel the bad, I'm not going to feel the good. Would I rather be empty and void?

Or completely and utterly bipolar?

The lows are horrible. More disturbing in mental imagery than what you could ever imagine. Visions of death, brutal murder, hopelessness, and demons devouring myself. Nightmares and racing heart. Cold, lonely, exhausted.

The highs are ok. But the highs usually consist of compulsive exercise. A hurricane of ideas. Random conversations in my mind. Addiction to new clothes (nothing new). Starting 5 different book and magazine ideas at once. Passionate, exuberant, and hyper. Funny, always weird.

Today I'll conclude with what I always tell myself when these feelings hit.


"Go into yourself and test the deeps in which your life takes rise; at its source you will find the answer to the question whether you must create. Accept it, just as it sounds, without inquiring into it. Perhaps it will turn out that you are called to be an artist. Then take that destiny upon yourself and bear it, its burden and its greatness, without ever asking what recompense might come from outside." R.M. Rilke

So it is a burden. But, perhaps something I'm meant to bear. This insanity, this depression, these highs and lows...all of it meant for a reason? Modern medicine deems not, but my spiritual side detests such notions. In that medicating my "disease" would only supress it. It would still linger. To struggle and battle it out is more my style. I don't like to be thought of as let off easy. But, my own mind does truly scare me at times.