the editors

Maeve:

I have begun to fear death (wow, such drama - can you tell I'm a romance novelist?) It was while I was riding my bike one day not so long ago, desperately sweating off those excess pounds, that I first discovered this fear. I caught my front tire in the streetcar tracks that run along College and went thudding to the ground. As I picked myself up off the sidewalk, I touched the rather large dent on the side of my helmet and found myself thinking "thank god I was wearing this little plastic shell or that would have been my head".

For someone who has flirted with death for most of her twenty-two years, this was a revelation. It seemed, suddenly, that the days of sleeping-pill overdoses, fantasies of "flying" off the Bloor Viaduct and praying that I had never been born were gone, poof, just like that. I was elated. And very, very scared. This was what I had been working towards, dreaming about, for years. But now it was here and, well, what was I to do? There was a whole new world of possibilities before me. A world of horrifyingly frightening possibilities. So many new things to learn and know and fear. I found I rather missed my old devil - he was so familiar.

I am now slowly getting acquainted with that new world, that new reality. And, by and large, I do like it better. But there are still days when I feel myself slipping, when the call of "the dark side" is just too damn poweful. I suspect that I will always feel that pull, that, like a recovering alcoholic must avoid the lure of booze forever, I must avoid beauty magazines and the succeeding self-flaggelation that inevitably occurs upon reading them. I must force myself to get out of bed, switch on the light and distract myself instead of continuing to lie there, hating myself for all the things I said wrong today.

I have come to think that the real trick is not to completely overcome these pitfalls, but to forgive myself when I do figure out that I am scrabbling around at the bottom of one. To step out from under that cloud (I've always pictured my depression as being outside of myself - a towering black storm cloud, you know the ones where you can just feel the pressure mounting in the air?) Where was I? Ah yes, I was stepping out from under that cloud and congratulating myself on my heroic feat, one that I believe requires enormous effort, courage and strength. And, let's face it, one cannot be heroic all the time. But when someone looks at me with a smirk on her face and asks me what I've been doing all these years while she was industriously acquiring her degree, I imagine myself saying right back: "Who, me? Oh, I spent the whole time working day and night to heal myself. And here I am - alive and, incredibly, glad to be alive. Just try to trump that achievement." The fact that I never actually say that? Well, I'm thinking that'll come with time. Or maybe it won't. For now, it's enough for me just to believe it.

Samantha:

Had a major run in with bulimia-anorexia for 15 out of 26 years of my life; attended the Toronto General Hospital's ED recovery program approximately three years ago. Most days now I would say that I am fully recovered! Have been attending Sheena's Place on an ongoing basis for emotional support for more than five years.

Presently working towards a Major in Art Criticism and Curatoral Practice at Ontario College of Art and Design; plus I have had my own studio practice since 1993 in mix media and performance art mostly documenting the cause and effects of my ED behavior; I have exhibited collaborative and solo pieces of art work at Sheena's Place open house art exhibition annuals.

Women's voices of strength and "the fall" that happens after recovery are what interest me. As a young adult who has lived the first three-quarters of her life in anguish, battling anorexia-bulimia and who has now been in recovery for two years, I know what it is like to be so down that you lose anything and everything, and so high that you don't even get the chance to stop, to realise that your foundation isn't strong enough to support the monster ideas you have created. A fall fifty times worse than the ones that came before seems almost inevitable. It may even be cause for hospitilization.

I also know what it's like to be searching for things to do with all this new-found time on your hands. The time which used to be spent mostly in sadness and obsession. For more than ten years I spent my time locked up in my home. And now, on this side of recovery, I am at a complete loss as to what to do next!? What does one do next if ED behaviour and life style is all that you have ever known?!