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 …
I try to be a good person. It’s not always easy: I’m a little bit evil. Not evil-evil. Not “enslave a race and destroy an old-growth forest” or “bring back bell-bottoms” evil. I’m more “scathing social media comment” evil. I’m Twitter-mean-evil. Still, the zingers burn my soul. They bring existential angst. Can I call myself …
I published a book. I’m immortal now, like Ozymandias. [i] I’ll exist long after the last tree has fallen and the last river has turned to dust. Or not. I have seller’s remorse. The temptation to log onto my account and undo what’s been done is enormous: that this mirrors bulimia, the theme of the …
Continue reading I’m immortal, in an ‘I published a book’ kind of way.
Eating disorders are about “shoulds,” but the rules turn into bars that trap you. I’m escaping: I’ve been easing my way back to the real world, but because some of me is still captive, some of the behaviours remain and try to exercise influence. They offer opinions on how I’m “supposed” to live my life. …
