After A Lifetime Of Silence, It Is

Madness Will Push You Anywhere It Wants. It Never Tells You Where You're Going, Or Why. It Tells You It Doesn't Matter. It Persuades You. It Dangles Something Sparkly Before You, Shimmering Like That Water Patch On The Road Up Ahead. You Will Drive Until You Find It, The Treasure, The Thing You Most Desire. You Will Never Find It. Madness May Mock You So Long You Will Die Of The Search. Or It Will Tire Of You, Turn Its Back, Oblivious As You Go Flying. The Car Is Beside You, Smoking, Belly-up, Still Spinning Its Wheels.

When I Was Growing Up, I Always Felt There Was An Expectation That I Would Do One Of Two Things: Be Great At Something, Or Go Crazy And Become A Total Failure. There Is No Middle Ground Where I Come From, And I Am Only Now Beginning To Get A Sense That There Is A Middle Ground At All.

I Get Absolutely Shitfaced. I Am Shitfaced And Hyper And Ten Years Old. I Am Having The Time Of My Life.

Anorexia And Bulimia Seem To Be Getting Much More Common In Boys, Men, And Women Of All Ages And Socioeconomic Backgrounds; They Are Also Becoming More Common In Racial Groups Previously Thought To Be Impervious To The Problem.

I Developed A Deep, Abiding Fear Of Jeans, Which I Still Have. I Hold My Breath And Shut My Eyes When I Pull On A Pair In The Dressing Room, Afraid They Will Now, As Then, Get Stuck At My Hips And There I Will Stand, Absurd, Staring At The Excess Of Hips That Should, If I Were A Good Person, Be „slim“.