Fall In Love With A Dog, And

When You're Starving Or Wrapped Up In A Cycle Of Binge-ing-and-purging, Or Sexually Obsessed With (someone), It Is Very Hard To Think About Anything Else, Very Hard To See The Larger Picture Of Options That Is Your Life, Very Hard To Consider What Else You Might Need Or Want Or Fear Were You Not So Intently Focused On One Crushing Passion. I Sat In My Room Every Night, With Rare Exceptions, For Three And A Half Years.

To A Drinker The Sensation Is Real And Pure And Akin To Something Spiritual: You Seek; In The Bottle, You Find.

When I Drank, The Part That Felt Dangerous And Needy Grew Bright And Strong And Real. The Part That Coveted Love Kicked Into Gear. The Yes Grew Louder Than The No.

Smooth And Ordered On The Outside; Roiling And Chaotic And Desperately Secretive Underneath, But Not Noticeably So, Never Noticeably So.

Why Do I Find The Fantasy - Husband, Family, Kids - Exhausting Instead Of Alluring? Is There Something Wrong With Me? Do I Have A Life?