The Hard Things In Life, The Things

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.

The Hard Things In Life, The Things You Really Learn From, Happen With A Clear Mind.

Solitude Is A Breeding Ground For Idiosyncrasy, And I Relish That About It, The Way It Liberates Whim.

It Happened This Way: I Fell In Love And Then, Because The Love Was Ruining Everything I Cared About, I Had To Fall Out.

Love—the Desire To Love And Be Loved, To Hold And Be Held, To Give Love Even If Your Experience As A Recipient Has Been Compromised Or Incomplete—is The Constant On The Continuum Of Hunger, It's What Links The Anorexic To The Garden-variety Dieter, It's The Persistent Pulse Of Need And Yearning Behind The Reach For Food, For Sex, For Something.