oh bella, how i miss you, how empty i am without your words. return to me, my wolf, in some form or another, will you please?

aha! i am still here. alive. maybe i have been a mess, maybe my room is in shambles because of moving and working, and maybe i am twitchy and skittery because of all the new sounds outside my new windows, the rearrangement of food in the kitchen, but i am alive. i suppose that's something of an achievement. i suppose. i hate moving. it's like having to confront all the bits of your past and make decisions whether to continue dragging them around with your or to bin them forever. i do not weigh just the weight of my body but rather the weight of everything i own and cannot get rid of, everything i clutch to me out of fear or love or nostalgia. with this i weigh tons. i have too much. i am too much. i want to strike a match and drop it, set it all aflame. oops. oh well. if only i had the courage.

all this pressure to write a brilliant post because i have been so long gone. agh. i am not up to it. bella joan pulled me out of my silence. thank you. she made me remember why i'm here and what i love. life is not about food and vomit and blood. apparently. sometimes it's about books. or dogs. or fabulous '20s bathing suits that maybe someday can be worn when those scars fade enough. if. if i weren't suddenly having problems having my own bedroom. the old fears again, fear of the night and the dark and the door. you are not a child anymore. you are not helpless. if i say this enough maybe i will believe it. maybe i will not have to draw more lines on my shaking tiger thighs.

i am straddling that line these days between refusal and consumption, between manic desperate continual scarfing and barfing and a complete fearful inability to eat. i know which one i prefer but neither is helping my sanity. i have forgotten what it is to eat normally, to eat and be satisfied, to eat and stop, the casualness of it all. i have to stop myself staring at my roommate who eats half a bowl of mac & cheese and leaves the rest. who smiles as she chews, who talks between bites, putting her fork down. i am baffled.

i am trapped, you know. consumed, obsessed, myopic. claustrophobic in this. i can't get out. my brain won't stop. i think if people ask me what's wrong i'll tell them i've got consumption. more accurate than eating disorder and certainly more accurate than it is for tuberculosis. and if i'm a very very good bulimic i imagine i could start coughing up blood.