My Parents Say That Even As A

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.

It Is Not A Sudden Leap From Sick To Well. It Is A Slow, Strange Meander From Sick To Mostly Well. The Misconception That Eating Disorders Are A Medical Disease In The Traditional Sense Is Not Helpful Here. There Is No 'cure'. A Pill Will Not Fix It, Though It May Help. Ditto Therapy, Ditto Food, Ditto Endless Support From Family And Friends. You Fix It Yourself. It Is The Hardest Thing That I Have Ever Done, And I Found Myself Stronger For Doing It. Much Stronger.

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

You Wake Up One Morning And There It Is, Sitting In An Old Plaid Bathrobe In Your Kitchen, Unpleasant And Unshaved. You Look At It, Heart Sinking. Madness Is A Rotten Guest.

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