So Many Means Of Self-destruction, So Little

We Know We Need, And So We Acquire And Eat And Eat, Past The Point Of Bodily Fullness, Trying To Sate A Greater Need. Ashamed Of This, We Turn Skeletons Into Goddesses And Look To Them As If They Might Teach Us How To Not-need.

I Have Never Been Normal About My Body. It Has Always Seemed To Me A Strange And Foreign Entity. I Don't Know That There Was Ever A Time When I Was Not Conscious Of It. As Far Back As I Can Think, I Was Aware Of My Own Corporeality, My Physical Imposition On Space.

I'm A Driven Perfectionist, Very Self-critical.

The Fact That You Were Essentially Dead Does Not Register Until You Begin To Come Alive.

I Threw Up Again That Night, Half-afraid That My Eyeballs Would Explode. But It Was, By Far, More Important That I Get Rid Of Dinner. Of Course, By Then, Throwing Up Was The Only Way I Knew How To Deal With Fear. That Paradox Would Begin To Run My Life: To Know That What You Are Doing Is Hurting You, Maybe Killing You, And To Be Afraid Of That Fact--but To Cling To The Idea That This Will Save You, It Will, In The End, Make Things Okay.