Talking to the house.

From Famine to Feast.

I like the delete button. It solves the anxiety that comes when a piece is out of control and heading off the rails. I couldn’t make it do what I wanted. It was a literary teenager, all sulky and willful. Select all and goodbye.

I don’t want to write about the arguments I have with my eating disorder on the semiregular. A quick survey of my written works (and doesn’t that sound pretentious) will reveal the longstanding hate-hate relationship, wherein she tries to kill me by destroying my sense of self and I try to not get dead. It’s endless, and I don’t feel like discussing my eating disorder today.

It’s boring at times, being ill. Mostly because of the chronic. Problems with soundbite resolutions are better. While sometimes I feel aspirational and want to share the inside life of my eating disorder, at other times, doing so seems nauseatingly…

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