The two-step shuffle, and how I started counting triscuits

When I tried to think of a name for this blog, I thought about various denigrating names for recovery, but then dismissed them as rather one-sided.  After all, I’m hoping recovery is a good thing.  At least, everyone tells me it is, and that it’s worth the hell I’m currently in.  I came up with the blog name when I realized that I’d gotten to the point one afternoon before going out to run errands when I had to pack a lunch bag with various “safe” foods so that I would eat something moderately decent so I could avoid the freaking-out-from-hunger-but-there’s-nothing-safe drama, and as I’m picking foods that my dietician and I had agreed on, I sat there counting Triscuits and wondering if a broken Triscuit counted as half or a third of one cracker.  In a way, it was brilliant.  I had come up with my own one-question quiz to see if you have an eating disorder:

Question:  Have you ever spent twenty minutes debating whether a broken tasteless cracker should be rounded up to the nearest whole cracker?

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The road to somewhere else

This blog isn’t about my story.  It’s about all of our stories.  It’s for anyone who has ever looked at themselves in the mirror and said, “I’m not worthy,” or “I’m not good enough,” or “I’m hideous.”  Anyone who has kept their secret far away from everyone they care for, to try to hide the shame and embarrassment.  Anyone who looks at a stranger or a celebrity who is thinner and thinks how undisciplined I must be, because I couldn’t help but eat/binge/purge/cut/hit today.  That’s me.  That might be you.  We’re not alone, and we’re not freaks.

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