Carry that weight: Columns: Front Porch – Independent Weekly

The skies turned the color of a plum, and the nurses herded several of us away from the windows in the day room and under a table. We were all ill and frail. I felt depleted, having traveled all night to this hospital, where, trying to save myself, I had checked into the eating disorders unit. “Only to get blown away by a tornado,” I thought.
But the storm passed. That evening, I had my first real meal in at least a month. This was Day One.

When I read Amy Lambert’s story of her struggle with an eating disorder, I recognized myself. I remember that summer 24 years ago—my senses dulled from malnutrition, my muscles atrophied from lying in bed for most of six months—when hospitalization was the last resort.

Story continues here ➤