The Anoretic Operates Under The Astounding Illusion

The Idea Began To Sink In, More Than It Ever Had, That I Might Be Crazy, In The Traditional Sense Of The Word. That I Might Be, Forever And Ever Amen, A Crazy Person. That's What We'd Suspected All Along, What I'd Been Working So Hard To Disprove, What Might Be True. I Preferred, By Far, Being Dead.

At Times It May Seem Worse - Harder, At Least - To Live Through The Despair Of This Loss Without The Temporary Comfort Of Our Addictive Behaviour. We Cannot Drown Our Sorrows. We Must Face The Fact That We Don’t Know, Really, Where We Are, How We Got Here, How Long The Pain Will Last, Or How To Move Past It. That Uncertainty May Be The Most Painful Part Of Not Knowing A God: No One Is There To Reassure Us That A God Will Take The Pain And Confusion Away. We Simply Don’t Know. And We Have No Way To Numb Ourselves Or To Forget The Condition We’re In.

And Yet You Are All That You Have, So You Must Be Enough. There Is No Other Way.

My Brain Sometimes Departs From The Agreed-upon Reality, And My Private Reality Is A Very Lonely Place. But In The End, I'm Not Sure I Wish I'd Never Gone There.

We Think Of Bulimia And Anorexia As Either A Bizarre Psychosis, Or As A Quirky Little Habit, A Phase, Or As A Thing That Women Just Do. We Forget That It Is A Violent Act, That It Bespeaks A Profound Level Of Anger Toward And Fear Of The Self.