I may be anti Anti Ana...

Well, some things never change. After spending weeks thinking about how I could breathe new life into my blog, I kill it. I change the name, making it impossible for old followers to find me, and then stop posting altogether. Good job, Mary. Way to reach the people!

And now, here I am, 2 months later, wondering if the reason I haven't been inspired to write was because the idea of counteracting individual pro-ana myths didn't spur enough passion in me. Yes, I want to be on the front lines, in the trenches of this war against eating disorders. Yes, I feel compelled to share my story and experience. Yes, I know my purpose in life is to provide hope and eliminate loneliness for those suffering. 

But how?

Maybe the answer isn't going to come from bright lights and interrogation of pro-ana sites. I could dissect the horrible, ridiculous, sickening lies that bounce around that shadowy corner of the internet by relaying all the honest realities that I learned from my team of medical professionals. But does anyone really care? I mean, seriously. There are cazillions of articles on the internet meant to educate readers about the proper way to calculate macronutrients. The benefits of healthy fats. Moderation. Sweet jesus, the moderation.

This leaves me in a pickle. I don't know what to write about partly because I have lost most of my readers. So whatever I do next either has to be entirely therapeutic for me, knowing that the best I will get is a few people who will accidentally click on my link thinking that it is something super cool about the volcano in Ecuador, Antisana.

Or I need to put in shit tons (yes, "shit tons" is an actual measurement) of effort reviving Zoloft and Coffee The Anti Ana.

You will not get an answer in this post. Yes, I'm talking to you, you adventurous volcano climber, you. This is going to take some thought. I am going to have to analyze how I want to spend those 13 minutes of freedom I get per week. How to maximize them for my enjoyment and, potentially, other people's advocacy.

But in the chaos that is my life and the quarter century crisis that is going on far too long, if you ask me, soul searching galore is happening in my head on an hourly basis. Somehow, I always end up back here.

Stay tuned, folks.

Quarter Century Crisis

I'm 25. On May 5th, I turned a quarter of a century old. Yeah, I'm old enough to legally rent a car now, and that's cool, but aside from that, what's the draw? I'm an adult. I'm supposed to have shit figured out. But instead, I'm chasing unicorns down the rabbit hole. So for the past 3 days, since I stopped celebrating my birthday and recognized that I actually had one, I have been trying to determine, ya know, my whole life. 

I have come to two conclusions. Yes, just two.

First, I want to be a writer. Not an "I have a blog that I post on twice a month and keep a journal and occasionally type things at Starbucks" kind of a writer. A legit author who writes meaningful pieces and gets paid more than peanuts for them. 

This opened the door to other questions that I don't have the answers to. Is my life interesting enough to write a book? Am I actually capable of writing a novel? Maybe I am more suited to magazines and newspapers. Do I want to continue to write about the topic of mental illness? Do I want to branch out to more creative writing? Do I have the determination to make it? What if I pour my heart and soul into making it as a writer only to learn that I actually suck and all of you actually just read my blog to laugh at my piss poor example?

And then all these unanswered questions, fears about the future, doubts about my talent swirl around my head until I get dizzy, freak out, and force myself to abandon the idea altogether. Which then leads right into conclusion #2.

I want to be a stay-at-home mom without the kids. (Feminists, pick up your stones and aim. You won't like this.)

I want Boyfriend to worry about the business sphere while I cook, clean, and stay pretty for him. I want to have dinner on the table at 6:00 every evening. I want to have coffee with my friends after they drop off their kids at school. I want to tend to my garden. I want to pride myself on how clean my windows are. I want to host dinner parties. I want to wear dresses every day, clean in heals, and bring Boyfriend a beer while he pays bills.

I think part of this second desire, this dream of being a housewife in the 50's, stems from my insatiable craving to be normal. My life has certainly leaned towards the abnormal, and part of me thinks I've earned the right to be a bit more conventional in a modern society. I have proven myself as capable of handling the atypical, the crazy, the difficult, which means I have been given a pass to rest in the traditional.

Or maybe I am just trying to hide where it is safe.