People Take The Feeling Of Full For

He Leaned Down And Whispered To Me: No Matter How Thin You Get, No Matter How Short You Cut Your Hair, It's Still Going To Be You Underneath. And He Let Go Of My Arm And Walked Back Down The Hall.

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

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.

The Problem Is That You Don't Just Choose Recovery. You Have To Keep Choosing Recovery, Over And Over And Over Again. You Have To Make That Choice 5-6 Times Each Day. You Have To Make That Choice Even When You Really Don't Want To. It's Not A Single Choice, And It's Not Easy.

Crazy Isn´t Always What They Say It Is. It´s Not Always The Old Woman Wearing Sneakers And A Skirt And A Scarf, Wandering Around With A Shopping Cart, Hollering At No One, Nothing, Tumbling Through Years In Her Head. No. Sometimes It Is A Girl Wearing Boots And Jeans And A Sweater, Arms Crossed In Front Of Her, Shivering, Wandering Through The Streets At Night, All Night, Murmuring To No One, Nothing, Tumbling Through The Strange Unreal Dimensions In Her Head.