maybe it's my self-deprecating personality. or maybe i just don't give a shit about society. but i don't mind all the names. being labeled crazy, dyke, disordered, anorexic, nutcase, manic, bitch. they're all true. i'm the real lie within all this psychobabble bullshit. because technically my life revolves around society. i'm fucking crazy. i'm the nonconformist conformist. i'm the epitome of a contradiction: the insane relishing the insanity, the control freak delving into things that ultimately strip control away from those who wade too far out into their waters. they say the definition of crazy is doing the same thing multiple times, expecting different results. sure, everyone does it- but i think that's just human nature. i think real, true insanity is going into something destructive knowing exactly how that destruction is going to happen. and being at peace with it. unless you've studied the brain at length, the phenomenon of the sudden, rapid change in brain chemistry is unexplainable. it's this concept you just can't wrap your head around -- you just blow with the wind, you land on the ground for a while and not know why the fuck you're there. but if you're lucky enough to not give up everything, if only because of prior experience or just pure, somewhat naive hope. you cling onto the weeds you scour for on the place you've been somehow forbidden to leave. if you're there too long you begin to forget what the sky feels like. you might dream about it. but you wake up knowing your dreams are all contrived. it's all freudian, how dreams are wish-fulfillment. eventually the wind remembers you, something about your brain changes, and whoops- you're up in the air again - suddenly you've lost the body mass that was hindering you and you're floating. so try to imagine being slammed on the ground and lifted up again rapidly, three times a day, while trying to juggle weighing every ounce of food you eat, calculating over and over again the calories because you're always unsure of your mathematical skills, or maybe your calculator needs new batteries. don't take the wind literally. it's all in your brain although when you're manic you might imagine it that way. everyone's used to your overactive imagination but you're convinced it's more than that sometimes. this is all happening in some parallel universe, this is all some government experiment- how can you be scared of death when the existence of you, the physical, tangible presence of you, ceases to exist? so anyway before all that happens the only thing that matters is stepping on the scale every day and praying to some god that the little goddamn piece of plastic does not move to the right. have you realized that food is one of the only things that utilizes all five senses for its methods of attraction? everyone concentrates on taste but before that even happens a lot of things occur. the sight of it must be attractive, as does the smell. both of those things can deter from consuming. if the food's not the right consistency, if it's not crispy or soft or thick enough, it's unattractive. if you end up eating it, either because of that naive hope i mentioned before that it might taste better despite everything, or because the rest has passed as satisfactory, it's then that the taste matters. there's a precise equation for contentment. of course, if you're bulimic, all this unconscious bullshit goes out the window. there's only one signal that you notice, and it has nothing to do with the senses. all it says, repeatedly and loudly and obnoxiously, is eat. eat. eat. fill this hole. do it now and do it fast. you don't smell it, see it, feel it, hear it, taste it. it is a frenzied forced feeding. ironically enough, all the senses come into play in the un-consuming part. during the morbidly satisfying purging process, you will search for each food that you've eaten, which you have, of course, out of pure practice, taken account of. you'll smell it, hear it, taste it, see it. so you do this for a few months, a few years, get tired of it, disgusted of yourself, it conveniently wants to make you puke just thinking about it, and you stop eating. this makes your already uncontrollable mania run haywire and you're suddenly sitting on the couch at nine am after a night or two of no sleep, jiggling your legs so fast that your body is vibrating, with the tv turned on to the today show if only for the noise to drown out the screaming in your brain.
and then it all gets quiet, maybe.
or maybe everything just keeps getting louder and louder.

but that's how it all began. or maybe how this is all going to end. who knows?