Hmmmm, how very self demeaning, intro-sightful to a dark degree yet through it all, within its crying depth of the meager, soulful sorrow for understanding in waning light, is there hope? As you see yourself (or is it the character defined, depicted anerexia nervosa itself?) in the mirror, are you seeing what is really there or does the mirror add pounds to your perception of self? Even further, it is compounded by the misunderstanding of those whom supposedly are your loved ones, further defining that which really isn’t there, bouncing back, even as the mirror lies, that which you fear; you are fat and ugly and there really is no cure. This is fear in one of its greatest manifestations and deadly in its consequeances, literally. And yet again, isn’t fear itself what needs to die, needs to be sidestepped even as a bullet meant for your head? My, my how you do write terrib, I congratulate you on moving me for, as anyone whom truly knows me would tell, I write only when moved and then, dear God help me, the words through emotional surge, do flow but, you dear, must come to the conclusion; is this only artful discription or therapeautic ministration to thine own self? Whichever it is, you have the magic pen and what thing will come into being with it, you will make it so even as I believe the pen is mightier than the sword. Careful in every word you think and say and, when put to the pen, it is live or die. Peace and Love in all things but in words I live, live, live even when I’m dying inside. LOL
Tim