Always Remember the Divine

  There's something specifically awful about being sick (and surprisingly it's not trying to type with swollen fingers.. well, that does stink, but I digress). It's deeply isolating.   I know that it's isolating in a physical sense, I spend an immense amount of time alone. My days consist of seeing doctors, sleeping the majority of the day, trying to force some food in to try to maintain my weight (not really working), and pushing through an unpleasant but necessary drug induced stupor to try to get anything else done. My tolerance for food is at an all time low, eating even small amounts of anything that's not brothy or fermented costs me hours of suffering.   It starts with hiccoughing - hic, ow. hic, ow. hic, ow. Then within a few minutes, bloating and rancid burps from the rot that's happening in my stomach that doesn't move stuff or perhaps from my burning, tight throat and all the acid that's inevitably there. I get sharp, shooting pains in my ...

I had the distinct pleasure of remembering and reconnecting with Dylan Thomas' iconic poem, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, as I watched Interstellar last night (by the way, what an awesome experience go see it right now.) I've always found it to be a very personal piece, as a person who identifies myself as a fighter, a bit of a rebel and unconventional. Last night's repetition was powerful for two reasons: it reminded me of that when I had forgotten, and it increased my resolve to overcome my current circumstances. I have been struggling immensely with depression, and for good reason. As of Monday, I know something new about my body. I had a procedure (endoscopy) for which I was anesthetized in the morning and while I was coming out of anesthesia, my (wonderful) doctor came in to follow up on a few things before he had to go see other patients. He told me, in brief, that the test I had last week (about which I've been jokingly talking about my radioactive br...

I'm simultaneously excited and not excited to write this post. Why? Because I'm afraid of it, and afraid of you knowing it, afraid of what it means about me and how you'll see me. If you've spent any time with me, this might be really apparent or come as a surprise (most likely the latter). But I'm also a bull-by-the-horns kind of girl and when I'm afraid of something, I'm also excited to conquer it. So here goes. You see, I'm a bravado babe. Being a foxy little spitfire, while accurate to my personality, is also a defense mechanism. Even after all this time, and with all my campaigning for my own worthiness and power and femininity, I still frequently find myself in a space in my mind where my self-esteem is oh-so-small and I look doe-eyed to the people around me for comfort and validation. It's one of those few things I still have hidden. There's a running commentary and set of assumptions that often come to a petite lady with a certain loo...

I grow close to my Mother Earth around me I am familiar with her ground  But mostly with the torrents of her weather Mankind will demand differently Never as Mother would But their cries are loud With the shriek of efficiency at their tail They don't really know For they are blinded with heat and fire Destruction is all destructed eyes can see And they cast their gaze on me Mother calls with gentle lilt But the noise of mankind burns through her grasses It seems easy to turn to self-protection But there is a higher calling here Sometimes I grow confused For the weather is heavy, The lightning foreboding And sometimes cold rain can burn too But the rampage of Mother Though more powerful in her storming, Has no such bitterness Of the fires of men I will take her rages, Her tides to her shores Embrace her wildfires Welcome the seeming cruelties of nature But for man's bitter pill He must swallow himself I wil...

TW: ED behavior, body perception This post isn't really particularly... anything, other than a few struggles and gripes of mine right now. Keeping things in context, I'm very much happier now and things are going very well, but eating disorder recovery does sometimes put me in a weird spot with body perception and normal, everyday changes. Be aware that this may or may not be too much information (but then again, its me, so I don't believe in such things). Good morning, uterus. Please leave me alone. Adrenal glands, could you just figure out how to work for... 10 hours? I could get a lot done in 10 hours. And thyroid... let's just stay a pretty consistent temperature. We'll definitely get warm in yoga, I don't need the extra cycles of shivering to sweating the other 15 times daily. My body can't even figure it out what I'm doing right now, and without everything that's happening in my life, I'm being stretched thin by that alone. I just hav...

Somewhere along the way, with all this mess and with all my self-doubt and desire to hide, perhaps because of my absolute determination to be a peaceful warrior for others' sense of worthiness, I woke up a different woman. Now, let me preface this by saying I didn't just wake up to a new person without any work. I remember all the grueling times of miserable experience and determined personal development. That is not what I'm saying. But there's been a rapid, if not perfectly pinpointed, epiphany of joy. I think, how did that come to be?  It's a pretty significant question, considering all the true justification I have for living in misery. But I don't live in misery. I have moments of intense sorrow, deep connection to the grief of the world for it has deeply affected me and the way I live. These moments are impermanent - and while joy is impermanent as well, it is threaded into the tapestry of my nature in thick cords. Sometimes joy is simply endurance...

Swirling, roiling, spinning paint Flinging outside it's bounds Spatter of color Does chaos reign, Or is outside the lines I'm found? Labels don't fit And neither should they So I seem like I'm out of control Your rules aren't my rules Your paint's not my paint My rainbow of colors is mine Where they run together Where colors swirl Does it make you uncomfortable? When you think of the mixing When you see the whorl What do you say aloud? You may not see my masterpiece You'll miss if you look at mistakes But here I land Paint on hand, paint on toes, Painted heart, painted face Let them run, let them mix Slide, surrender to fate Surrender to out of control For eternal are you and eternal your place No mess cannot be undone Mostly the mess Is the beauty itself Let it splatter, expel your paint If you hold it in, you're holding back all Let it go, don't make us wait There's a beauty ...

I. Am. So. Overwhelmed. I feel like I'm trying to catch fireflies with a net hanging out of a rocket, hurtling rapidly toward the stars and feebly attempting to capture some semblance of light before I get there and have only an empty net to show in comparison to the roiling, tossing flame of an almighty star. This has been my recovery. I believe that I can figure out how to surrender control. Intellectually, I believe that. But there's more to life than just intellect.  And I know that things wouldn't be happening how they are if this wasn't the right time, but I'm abysmally terrible with my own emotions, okay? I feel like crying. I had an amazing, life altering, awe-filled experience tonight. Without going into it, I made covenants in the temple. I don't have the slightest problem with any of that, the real struggle was the people there for me. What? Yes, the struggle was the way the temple president took some time for me specifically, told me to look at...

paper skin marks easily      scratches and bruises from whatever it comes in contact with with horror you'll look on,      but i never knew you did no horror for my own decay if you give them secrets      if you explain it away they'll accept it no matter that they're lies it's easy when you're smart      reading books is but a hobby reading people feeds your lifestyle - if not your body hush now, jealous mistress      Anorexia doesn't want to share me but we'll hide together so she can stay "Fat," i'll hear Her say,      pinching belly and staring at reflection "Stupid child... you should know better than to listen to Me." glassy eyed, faraway look      scares people away people with any sense, anyway "Hide better!" She tells me,      and so i get better every day betraying myself with lies i protect Her and not me     ...

I think most people have had some exposure to the Cherokee Legend of the Two Wolves   (still unverified by me, I hate to attribute the etymology of the story wrong but alas not everything has to be technically correct, I guess ).   If not,  here's the story. Got yer' nose!   Maybe it's because I swim in deep waters of contemplation, or more likely because I'm anoretic (I learned that this is the term for a person with anorexia  today), but the thing that comes to my mind is: What about the wolves you won't feed? Just me? Ahh, okay.  If you're baffled as to why I ask this question, do read on...   Every person has a set of wolves. This concept is oversimplified, obviously. We're all a mix of strengths and flaws, virtues and weaknesses, wrapped tightly in a cloak of humanity. Or perhaps that is just what it is that makes us most human.   But I don't want you to see.  I want to see you, but I don't want you to see me, for I grew...

  This is a recently popular and seemingly exhausted subject - but I really did wait and take in and consider a lot before casting in my opinion. I'd like to introduce a moderate idea on the subject.   My problem with the modesty concept and the way that it's taught is not that it has no value, but that it is over-emphasized and only partially explained to young women, to their duress and the the duress of their peers. Why do I feel like I can say this? Because I lived it.   We often talk about modesty in the context of self-respect. I want to connect that concept of self-respect to the concept of self-esteem for the sake of my understanding. We often teach girls that someone with self respect (read: self-esteem) will cover their body. Hopefully we're teaching them that their bodies are good things and that the only reason to cover them is because they are sacred, not bad.  We may or may not be completing that teaching in our culture - but I hope we are.  ...

This week has been an interesting one, to be sure. I've gotten some really curious feedback on my writing... specifically since writing  Confessions of an Anorexic Athlete . The number one response is some variation of, "Wow, that's bold and really brave." Sometimes it's not that nice, and usually more subtle than a verbal statement, but to the effect of the always nasty, "I didn't want to know," or, "It's impolite to talk about," or, "You're making it up/exaggerating," or, "There's no way you could act the way you do if that had really happened." But generally, everyone will come out and say, "Why are you going public with that information? Isn't that a little crazy?" In response to that question... Yes, absolutely.  Honestly, if you didn't know I was a little crazy by now, you really didn't know me well at all. It's a good kind of crazy. There's no such thing as normal an...

See what I did there? I have two sides to my personality, one is always waxing, one is always waning. I hesitate to even call one of these sides part of my personality  because its at odds with who I see myself as and who I want to be. I am working very hard on being my most genuine self  in every setting. It's a process. One side of my personality is like a public face - but it extends far beyond that. At this point in my life, this part only shows up when I'm first getting to know someone or in a group of more than a few. This is not me. This part of me is shaped by years of conditioning, fear and anxiety.  The reason this is more than a public mask is because after a certain amount of time being "on" constantly, it started to creep into my way of being and changed my feelings about myself until I can't turn it "off" anymore. This version of Shareeta is a huge barrier to meeting the real Shareeta. This version is conscious of scrutiny and an inten...

TW: Sexual abuse, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, detailed description of  anorexic and bulimic behavior, suicidal depression A note to the reader: This is a personal and heart-wrenching, open account of the nitty-gritty of my eating disorder. I appreciate your readership and I think you'll be surprised by the tone. It would help your understanding greatly if you also listened to the music I've inserted, it communicates emotional messages.    Hey there, stranger. I say that not because we definitely are (though we might be), but because this is going to be perhaps the best explanation of the dynamics of my life that have made me tick these past 12 years. This is far from a full explanation of me, this is the most succinct explanation of my reactive, anxious behavioral response to a number of triggers through my lifetime and the dysfunctions that follow. This is an explanation of how my anorexia works.    I came out (and am coming out) publicly about my eat...