A long time ago…


A long time ago, I promised a new format for this blog, a new set of topics, a new–well, everything. And I thought I was interested in transforming this into something “better,” something more transformative, perhaps something more like what I originally envisioned when I promised to write about the day-to-day things that the mass media can’t, or won’t, cover. 

I started this blog with the intention of writing about “what we try not to see,” with finding obscure news stories and bringing them to light, or at the very least, writing about things I witnessed & experienced.

Then I started to fret about the amount of privilege inherent in my endeavors. And I got distracted with trying to make ends meet, and figure out where the hell my life was headed. And I worried that I wouldn’t have the authority to speak about any of the things I might want to write about–whatever those things would be. And so on, until I just didn’t write.

I’m going to try to change that. I’m going to write about things I know. But I’m also going to write about things I don’t know. And I want your comments. I want to know the insights you have, the arguments I’ve overlooked, your experiences, your beliefs. 

So, let’s get started:

“I can’t trust anyone or anything these days…of all the strangers you’re the strangest that I’ve seen.” – Lord Huron, from “The Stranger.”

I’ve been listening to this song, for the most part a couple times a day, since a friend introduced it to me in early November. There’s something about the music that washes over me and I almost don’t hear the lyrics at all, until much later when I realize that those lines are just running through my head again and again — but not in that upsetting “I can’t get this song out of my head” way.

But I’m really internalizing this in more, potentially problematic, ways. A few years ago, I used exercise as a coping mechanism, the thing that I did to feel in control and to control my emotions. I exercised for endorphins and whenever the endorphin high began to fade, I exercised again. I pushed myself to my physical limits and to the point of breaking my body down. And then I pushed myself harder. I didn’t trust anyone, or anything, something I didn’t fully realize until more than a year-and-a-half into my recover and even then, I only kinda trusted people. The first person I trusted moderately fully, the first person I trusted enough to allow myself to get at the root of the things that were really wrong (because he wouldn’t buy my bullshit), I also trusted instinctively–or perhaps out of this same exhaustion. I was exhausted of always pretending to be someone else, to be the strangest among strangers, even though I suspect I “passed” pretty well, and still do. I pass at something like normalcy and when I talk in vague terms about the things that are wrong with me, waiting for someone to commit enough to ask, I get the impression that people look at me and go, “get over it.”

Maybe those people are right. Maybe there’s a lot I should just get over, a lot I should let go. After all, I’ve got a lot going for me also. 

But people who look at me now wouldn’t guess eating disorder. And when I do make the decision to share this, most people don’t allow me the space to talk about it. That frustrates me and I suspect that’s what the first part of this new found “just write it” attitude comes from. I’ll try to label posts that are potentially triggering. Help me with this. Please.

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