But In Some Ways, The

Me And My Needs Were Driving My Mother Away. Me And My Needs Retreated To My Closet, Disappeared Into Fairy Tales. I Started Making Up A World Where My Needs Wouldn´t Exist At All.

There Is, In The End, The Letting Go.

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.

When I Was Growing Up, I Always Felt There Was An Expectation That I Would Do One Of Two Things: Be Great At Something, Or Go Crazy And Become A Total Failure. There Is No Middle Ground Where I Come From, And I Am Only Now Beginning To Get A Sense That There Is A Middle Ground At All.

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.