People Take The Feeling Of Full For

There Was A Time When I Was Unable To Get Out Of Bed Because My Body, Its Muscles Eating Themselves Away, Refused To Sit Up. There Was A Time When The Lies Rolled Off My Tongue With Ease, When It Was Far More Important To Me To Self-destruct Than To Admit I Had A Problem, Let Alone Allow Anyone To Help.

In Her Presence, I Was Reminded Again Of Why I Was An Anoretic: Fear. Of My Needs, For Food, For Sleep, For Touch, For Simple Conversation, For Human Contact, For Love. I Was An Anoretic Because I Was Afraid Of Being Human. Implicit In Human Contact Is The Exposure Of The Self, The Interaction Of The Selves. The Self I'd Had, Once Upon A Time, Was Too Much. Now There Was No Self At All. I Was A Blank.

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

Some People Who Are Obsessed With Food Become Gourmet Chefs. Others Become Eating Disorders.

There Is Never A Sudden Revelation, A Complete And Tidy Explanation For Why It Happened, Or Why It Ends, Or Why Or Who You Are. You Want One And I Want One, But There Isn't One. It Comes In Bits And Pieces, And You Stitch Them Together Wherever They Fit, And When You Are Done You Hold Yourself Up, And Still There Are Holes And You Are A Rag Doll, Invented, Imperfect. And Yet You Are All That You Have, So You Must Be Enough. There Is No Other Way.