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I am angry that I starved my brain and that I sat shivering in my bed at night instead of dancing or reading poetry or eating ice cream or kissing a boy… – from my notebook, 2000.

“I didn’t particularly want to live much longer than that. Life seemed rather daunting. It seems so to me even now. Life seemed too long a time to have to stick around, a huge span of years through which one would be require to tap-dance and smile and be Great! And be Happy! And be Amazing! And be Precious! I was tired of my life by the time I was twenty-three. Four years into eating disorder. No purging. Just starving myself to fainting and binging to “save” me. I was tired of being too much, too intense, too manic. I was tired of people, and I was incredibly tired of myself. I wanted to do whatever Amazing Thing I was expected to do— it might be pointed out that these were my expectations, mine alone— and be done with it” – Marya Hornbacher, Wasted.

Why suddenly to be thirsty for life?

I breathe in slowly. Food is life. I exhale, take another breath. Food is life. And that’s the problem. Is it?

That’s what I mean by weaving and knitting my words and visions. To see life’s purpose once again.

I am not a mistake. I’m not a problem to be solved.  I just need to stop banging my head against the wall of shaming and caging and fearing myself.

This doesn’t make much sense, does it?

Sorry to spam your minds.

I just need to get all of this out. To move on.

Spam over.

Smile to me at my Lithuanian September.😀