(Note: this and the previous blog posts are parts of a longer piece I am planning for publication this summer, and eventually plan to use in my memoir of my life and (eventual) recovery from anorexia from the perspective of a woman who became ill with anorexia at the age of 41 — with no prior history or eating disorders.) Things I love, or why I must give up control in order to recover: Sunsets of deep, fiery reds melding with dark and dusty blues, making my heart long for unknown things and unknown reasons. Broken, yet beautiful butterflies, bravely fluttering wings during their last minutes of life. My husband's face as he leans toward me, his dark blue eyes filled with love as he softly touches my lips with his and strokes my hair, whispering, "You're beautiful." He has been through so much, and continues to love me unconditionally, always saying "You are more than your illness." Songs of joy and sorrow, the music aching and so beautiful I must listen one more time. Reading a book in which the characters are real, the setting is true and I feel like I am saying goodbye to new friends after I've read the last page. Crying when I read something sad or joyous, knowing the tears make me human. Pictures of exploding galaxies and new worlds, imagining that there might be life out there from whom we could learn how to preserve our own earth. People who are honest and courageous, sharing their struggles and triumphs through their beautiful blogs. Thinking about the possibilities of life, and wondering where I fit. The laughter and playfulness of children I hear at my church each week; they truly are part of the service and are witnesses to the command of Jesus to bring the children unto him. Art of beauty and truth that gives me a glimpse into the artist's soul. The poetry of Anne Sexton, the truths she told and the beauty in which she wrote in spite of her pain. The books of Laura Ingalls Wilder, comforting me on a cold winter's night as I curl up and read of life more than one hundred years ago and realize we haven't changed as much as we might think. The challenge of battling anorexia nervosa, the compassion it has taught me and the lessons I continually learn from it I believe will make me a better person in the end. The small flame of belief which continues to burn in me daily, giving me hope for recovery. All those who take the time to read my writings, give me support, and send me their love and hugs. All of these things and more are why I must recover. I realize I will need to give up control to the people who know better than me how to heal me. There will be no more bargaining with recovery; I either recover or I die. I do not want to give up the things I love, and I want to experience life in all its fullness. I will never forget how it felt to be afraid of food and life, the sense of isolation and anger so deep I lashed out at myself. I won't forget the feeling of denying my hunger, of looking at other people eating naturally and longing to be able to do the same thing. I will always remember the feeling that I wouldn't recover, and that my entire self-worth was dependent on weight and calories and how little I could consume in one day. I can never forget feeling like a slave to anorexia, the shackles so tight it takes years and hard work by many people to shatter them Several people have told me this week I will some day use my struggles to help others; I feel they are seeing something in me that I simply can't envision. I will always remember and it always will be a part of me. Perhaps this sounds strange, but I would not change anything that has happened. There will come a day when I will write about being recovered. The rest remains a question mark.