| Retard Filter. |
[01 Jan 2003|11:46pm] |
"Never trust a survivor," my father used to warn me, with Vartan Mamigonian in mind, "until you find out what he did to stay alive."
(Bluebeard del Vonnegut)
I have a propensity for the ridiculous - who else thinks "Up, up and away!" before purging?
Although I suffer from an ED, it is by no means a glamorous affair. I have never fainted at the gym, I don't drink diet coke or chew gum, and I have not suffered the misfortune nor drama of a heart attack. I have never had to purge using my hands or any foreign objects - albeit a compulsion, purging is not so much a stupid pet trick as it is a naturally occurring coping mechanism.
There is no rationality in this trap - it is full of double-blind coded messages, cups of tea examined for spiders by weary and distrustful eyes, and resentment towards any harbouring of the physical self.
DISGRACE! DISCORD! DISENCHANTMENT!
Over the years, I have used this journal as a vehicle to belittle those prone to misdiagnoses, poor education and mainstream aesthetics. For that, I apologise (a rarity). Granted, ignorance is easily run through with a scathing wit, but pain googled and pain issued a medical certificate still feel the same at five in the morning.
It is my quest to find the point on the graph where wanton excess, voluntary simplicity and enforced frugality collide, if there is such a thing. If you have any suggestions, let the home keys guide your insight my way.
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