Bitch With a Golden Chain    My mind is pulsing, throbbing against my skull. The pain isn't so bad. The pain is never so bad. I won't let it. I can lift a fork to my mouth and chew, swallow. I can keep it down and take another bite. I can drink a regular cola and swallow, keep it down. I can eat a sticky sweet candy and swallow, keep it down. I cannot change my mind, or the thoughts it continues to think. Over and over the same thought. It's been years, i wish it would stop. Please have mercy, let me go. I can't do this. From Faust Student: To be frank, I should like to run away./ I Cannot say i like these walls,/ These gloomy rooms and somber halls./ It seems so narrow, and i see/ no patch of green, no single tree;/ And in the auditorium/ My hearing, sight, and thought go numb. Mephisto: That is the question of mere habit./ The child, offered mother's breast,/ Will not in the beginning grab it;/ But soon it clings to it with zest./ And thus at wisdom's copious breasts/ You'll drink each day with greater zest.  
There have been few moments in my life where I was not afraid, where even my soul was calm and peaceful. A deep kind of peace you mostly find in death. In a way they were the death of something, small peices of me, chapters of my life. I wasn't afraid when my grandfather died, I didn't cry for the longest time and never over his death but only what had come from it. I remember seeing him as he was dyin, I wasn't happy- but ever fiber of my body felt love. Strong love, and it knocked me out. For months. Another time i stood unafraid was when i went into recovery, at first. I had found something in myself i have since lost. I accepted everything, even the sickness that followed, the destruction if everything i knew. Not just with my eating disorder but those were the months everything changed forever. Yet I wasn't afraid, I was okay with everything. 
I want to give you guys a peice of me, something real. So, something from my journal, my written one: It's softly raining outside. Hit's against my window. My chest is tight, my breathing anything but calm. Finals are next week, the semester ends. My head is in my clouds, my soul in a materialistic coma. I want to be brave. That's all i really want, a backbone. Courage.   
I hate my insecurity. I hate my constant need to be reassured. | 
