No-one in my family will admit that my sister has an eating disorder. It’s just how things are with us, I think. Once I had a therapist ask who I’d phone in a crisis – I like that, “crisis”, that little verbal sleight-of-hand that both covers and implies all the falling apart, bullet in glass, vomit and blood awfulness that a crisis actually involves. I said I’d phone the Samaritans.
thiz iz ayn o they talez telt oan caul nichtz, wi th’ win mutterin mutterin, howlin an gaspin a gale ower th’ great plainz o ice. thiz iz a ferrytale, o th’ kine weanz uzed tae be telt afore they facen th’ dark. Continue reading “ferrytale”