You Will Not Stop. The

That Nothing - Not Booze, Not Love, Not Sex, Not Work, Not Moving From State To State - Will Make The Past Disappear.

I Was Perpetually Grief-stricken When I Finished A Book, And Would Slide Down From My Sitting Position On The Bed, Put My Cheek On The Pillow And Sigh For A Long Time. It Seemed There Would Never Be Another Book. It Was All Over, The Book Was Dead. It Lay In Its Bent Cover By My Hand. What Was The Use? Why Bother Dragging The Weight Of My Small Body Down To Dinner? Why Move? Why Breathe? The Book Had Left Me, And There Was No Reason To Go On.

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.

This Is The Very Boring Part Of Eating Disorders, The Aftermath. When You Eat And Hate That You Eat. And Yet Of Course You Must Eat. You Don’t Really Entertain The Notion Of Going Back. You, With Some Startling New Level Of Clarity, Realize That Going Back Would Be Far Worse Than Simply Being As You Are. This Is Obvious To Anyone Without An Eating Disorder. This Is Not Always Obvious To You.

That’s The Nice Thing About Dreams, The Way You Wake Up Before You Fall.