top of page

We’ve all got a certain skeleton in the closet. A story we're reluctant sharing. An identity we deny ourselves exists. Something so private, we stay oblivious of its presence at all.


My “classifieds” may not have been so subtle, but in sharing the chronicles to follow I am handing the key to my safe box; letting my mind be cut open, exposing the thoughts.


Like the magician who lifts the drape to reveal what's inside his box, I pick up the covers that reveal my anorexia.


When the magician takes off that curtain, surprised, we find that what was once there disappeared.


So in unveiling my box, or anorexia, I hope its content too can vanish. I trust to break free. 

bottom of page