ÒEvery time IÕd talk to people and theyÕd ask me how Annalise was doing, it wasnÕt long before their eyes would glaze over, and in a few minutes theyÕd make an excuse to leave.Ó
ÒDo you know why?Ó Sandy asked.
ÒNot really. They just wouldnÕt listen, or maybe, they couldnÕt listen. Maybe, anorexia is such a misunderstood disease for most people that it made them uncomfortable. All I know is that it sure made a lonely time for me.
And so, I wrote. IÕd pick up the steno pad, and, often, with tears running onto the page, IÕd pour out frustration, sadness, grief, hopelessness, and fear. Joy never appeared. Resignation, however, finally gave way to limited and cautious optimism.
Within these pages lies a tortured soulÐa motherÕs soul.
A bleeding, blending, and rebirth.