...painfully Curious...about How It Feels To Fall.

You Can't Teach An Ear, You Can't Teach Talent, But You Can Teach People Who Have Those Things Not To Just Fly By The Seat Of Their Pants.

I Do Not Remember Very Many Things From The Inside Out. I Do Not Remember What It Felt Like To Touch Things, Or How Bathwater Traveled Over My Skin. I Did Not Like To Be Touched, But It Was A Strange Dislike. I Did Not Like To Be Touched Because I Craved It Too Much. I Wanted To Be Held Very Tight So I Would Not Break. Even Now, When People Lean Down To Touch Me, Or Hug Me, Or Put A Hand On My Shoulder, I Hold My Breath. I Turn My Face. I Want To Cry.

I Grew Into It. It Grew Into Me. It And I Blurred At The Edges, Became One Amorphous, Seeping, Crawling Thing.

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.

Falling In Love Happens So Suddenly That It Seems, All At Once, That You Have Always Been In Love.