I heard about Polly Williams death from one of Rachel's posts (either at the Disordered Times or F-Word ), but it hit me tonight when I read the L.A. Times article on her. Polly was 33 years old. Born in 1974.
Just like me.
I thought she was older than me when I saw her in the documentary "Thin."
It's scary. Death. How it happens at any age. But for some reason, when someone who is my age dies, the fear overwhelms me. The fear of death, of nothingness, of end.
Deep breath, Jeanne. Now isn't the time to think about the terrifying things like what happens when your body stops functioning. Not now when life is stressful enough and you are grasping onto the slippery recovery wagon. Not when you have been working so hard to hang on. Be gone nightmare.