Apparently this is what happens when you don't have permission to delete a post that you accidentally made.... :>

My Private Love Letter

Every night when I close my eyes, I see your eyes.
Every morning I wake up looking for you.
Every drive I take, I imagine is with you.
Every moment I'm thinking of you.
I prefer to die for you than to live without you.
I prefer to drown than to let you get wet.
I prefer to lose sleep if it helps you rest.
I prefer to shiver if I can keep you warm.
I will walk hundreds of extra miles to open your door.
I will dream of bringing you flowers on name day.
I will talk when you don't want to.
I will still smell you when you are gone.
I am in love with you.
I am dedicated to you.
I am full of appreciation for you.
I am just in love with you!

la dolce vita

I can imagine it with you little p, thank you for coming.

Just Mad

I'm mad at the world because the world is a mad place and it's always pulling down on my hurting face so I make my shoulders stronger and the world just spins down harder so I strengthen my back and I strenghthen my calves and I spit on everything that weakens my path but the weights of the stress of the god dammed hate that feeds my mouth taken from my plate is the same damn rust that colors my brains with the same stupid thing that provides the pain in my growing calves in my harder veins depleting the tissues that keep me sane so i'm betrayed by my own decaying ways because it's the strength that I make that betrays my wake and every time I stand tall I prepare for the take of another stronger wave of the things I hate so the lesson should be to walk away from my own failing ways but the sun shines every day and it seems like there must be some way to get strong enough.

I continue to take the paths of the strong soul and I brave out the cold and I don't shiver at all and I walk with that limp but pretend I don't and I pretend like karma has some kind of hope of the things that I do that are good-will kill and outweigh anything else and I continue to be there to help the rest and I work with the weakest and give my best and I know one day I'll lie dead with only a handful of mourners to stroke my head and I'll be no more and nothing at all and no more feelings and no more goals and no more anything but the few that cared will even hold me close enough to be a memory but the sun shines every day and it seems like there must be some way to be good enough.

I keep taking breathes and I keep singing songs and I keep taking showers and I put on my thongs and I bathe in that sun and I'm glad to exist but I can't keep away the things I can't resist are the waves of dispair that are always there and always something new to betray my peace because I wake just before I sleep and if I sleep I wake in error with some fucked up thought that yields terror so I sleep in fear that when I wake I'll be in the same horrid place where I closed my eyes which is the same horrid place that I despise that I call my little chair in the darkness of the night with straps around my arms and legs which hold me tight reminding me that the one thing I can count on is my little chair to rust on but the sun shines every day and it seems like there must be some way to be powerful enough.

I was made to almost be great to almost have peace and almost never hate but misfortune is in the word "almost" because it's never a confirmed success in fact its confirmation lays in the ashes of the rest by the very nature of the word suggests a failure by some margin that will always exceed success granted in the first place and that is the metaphor for my life and brain and how I came upon this conclusion because it's almost right or it's perfect but unnoticed or perhaps it's so perfectly noticed that it doesn't shock the senses enough to be good like my purpose on earth which is to almost shine bright to almost be good enough and to expire before I'm finished and to expire without having quite done enough to matter enough to the world that betrays me and pushes down harder on me every day and breaks my balls in a new way every time I become strong enough to resist it but the sun shines every day and it seems like there must be some way to be smart enough.

I lie in my bed and I toss and I turn and I think of things that make my brain burn and I use the fuel created by my fears and I know that these episodes are lasting for years but it makes me so god dammed mad to think that I am the one who bends and breaks so my parts are for the take and then all claim purity when I know damn well they have drunk from the well and it makes me angry to be what I said and I'm god dammed mad to realize what I was told I was just fed and that I am the only one again who is lonely in the things I did and I am alone inside my head while I wait for someone to tear down these graffiti walls to grow enough to take the fall and tell me about the things that were done to steal from my well and tell me about the darkness and about hell so that I can see how it's different now with my own eyes but time passes still I don't heal because time is not what it takes to feel less pain when you need to know the cause of the cuts to the veins and when you need to stop bleeding from the heart but the sun shines every day and it seems like there must be some way to move on when you don't even know where you are.

Rest In Peace, I Grieve You.

Dear Ibidem,

I was quite pleased to know you. From all the persons I’ve been pleasured to meet, you were one of the best. You were created from the purest motives. You were far from perfect but your attempts were sometimes really fantastic. I miss you as I write this. About a month ago you started to fall ill. Maybe it was before that. It seems like the rose petals you walked on became thorns. It seems that the cool clean air you breathed turned to black dust. I suppose the heaving and choking was too terrible to bear. I wish you tried to stay longer. I’ve only known you for one year.

How I miss you dear friend. You gave me hope in hopeless times and trust when the path ahead was in darkness. I know that you ultimately blame yourself for what led to your demise and the unhappiness of others. I know you tried to survive on the idea that it was your own failure that brought you into the spiral of madness. And I think you would still be here if you could have blamed yourself fairly. That was always your problem; you were happy blaming and hating yourself, but you couldn’t accept the notion of blaming others. Didn't you remember that I told you to stop having so much faith in humankind? Oh Ibidem, why didn’t you take my advice? Now I grieve your passing. I accept that it’s your time to go. And I think you leave as beautiful as you came. I wish that you did not leave me here alone. I’m so cold without you that the bleakness of a blizzard seems warmer. I’m so cold inside that if ice were inside me, it would shiver. But farewell old boy, I won’t bind you to this world by grieving you too long.

I miss your life, I miss you to death, and soon I’ll even miss your death. Life goes on without your friendship anyway. I don’t know what you would have told me. We never suffered when you were here. I shouldn’t call you friend, you are at least my brother, and you are at least me. So Ibidem, I shall call you Id. Pass lightly lovely spirit. I have great respect for you. Take with you all that you need from me, from this place, and remember to always love. I don’t think I ever told you that I love you. This I regret. I love you Id. You were too good for this world and far too good for me.

Let this letter serve as your v-obituary. Electronically you lived, electronically you shall die. Pass lightly, avoid the hells, and take with you a picture of her. At your request, on your deathbed, I have recorded your official last words. They follow:

“Maybe it was not about dying without true love but finding true love and losing it. It’s not as romantic as dying at the bottom of the ocean looking for pearls for Leah. But I still feel the same in my dreams. My dreams never end. I’ll hold this thorny rose until I have hands no more. Thank you for helping me sleep, brother. I need to live in my dreams now.”

I wipe away tears as I lay you down onto the knife that has already taken you. I don’t know why I had to be the one. It angers me. It makes me feel lonely and all alone. Give me this time Id. I am alone to find a new path. It’s an atrocity that I’m in control of this life. But I will do my best with the state of mind you left me. I will do my best with this reality you left me. You would have made your own path but I must find one that was already created. Ego is what I am. Rest now, close your eyes, relax as the darkness falls. I will always remember you. I am a better man for having met you. Thank you Id. I love you. Lights out. Goodnight for the last time old boy.

Domination is a Two Way Street

I'm not here to talk about your new shoes, your friend, or how you feel about the news. I don't care about that. I want to rip the clothes off your back. I want to tie your hands to the ground. I want to keep you with me but bound. You know you left me walking barefoot on broken glass again. You know the razorblades are cutting apart my skin. You know you have it, you know you do, and when you come to me, I take it from you. You know this is a confession and I'll preside, your mouth is my channel, now confide! I'm not talking about words that you say, I'm talking about your suffering to take mine away. I’m here to take your guilt and you know... my reason is too dark to sew, without you. Without you, the reason grows too big, it makes me feel so god dammed sick. Without you, is it safe to say? I can’t be a real man today? When you’re missing I still need your hand! Come back! I need you, I can't be a man. Without you, my heart is squeezed, my fears uncontained, happiness gone, hurting more every day. I'm limping again and I need you to pay. I'll take this out on you in every way. I'll be your god, sitting askew. I love the things I'll put you through. I'll dominate you. I'll be the man that you make me again. You'll make me understand again. You'll give me one reason to think I am decent. I'll take your guilt and forgive you for your sins. You will come to me and thank me again. I will show you my thanks with the pearls of our love. You will drink it like Jesus' blood. As I collapse in comfort, us in our arms, I will kiss your lips and lick your scars. I will tell you how much I love you, and how you make me a man. You will touch my face and fall in deep love again. My emaciated confidence will turn into egoism built for two. One healthy day for me and one for you. Until tomorrow when I must hold you again. From the moment you leave, I start swimming in sand with my eyes wide open. Wipe off your mouth and sit up straight. Fix your hair and your clothes; this ends our date. Time to go, but I hope you know, I want to be with you. I want you to stay in my arms for all of my life, because you make me a man and I know that's right. I know every day that passes I will love you. You know I truly do. My arms want to wrap around you tonight but I put them together and hold air tight. Without you in my life every day I cannot be a man. Somebody said a foolish thing, that a woman cannot teach a man to be. A statement made of pure stupidity. It's you in my heart every night that keeps me holding on so tight, tight to the love that I have for you. So I can be. Because my love, without you, there is no me...

What is this?

It is dark inside and out. You notice a small house. It is falling apart and the outside wood is almost blue with age. When you behold it, even from the outside, from the window comes voices. The window, dirty and broken, is hard to see into from your angle. Dare to walk close enough? The porch cracks below your feet, but does not break. From here you still cannot see through the window. You must draw closer. The voices become louder, crazy voices, maybe more than one. High pitched voices that seem to be signaling terror. You cannot tell if the owner of these voices is human. You cannot tell if he is evil, or if he is speaking evil, or if he is merely trying to warn you of evil. But the manifestation of evil is indeed certain.

You chose to approach but it all happens so fast. With the labor of each footstep comes too much noise. You narrow your eyes as you near the window. The dirty window comes into focus and now you see through it. You look through a hole in the broken glass. It is dark but some dim glow of red-yellow ambient light makes the shadows alive enough for you to map the inside. The light must be from flame, maybe candles because you notice how it dances. There is a picture on the dirty wall but it's hard to see what is on it. Maybe it's a portrait. There is a desk and chair and a wood stove. Now you see the source of light, it is indeed a lantern on the desk. The figure of a human, maybe a skeleton but with flesh, is there in a rocking chair. Rocking. It's in the darkest corner. You focus in, trying to see better. You feel the moist chill of the air and moment and don't want to make a sound. You feel the terror of the scene. The voices do not stop. Suddenly a man appears with a bloody face and he is staring back at you, two inches away, on the other side of the window. Undead, or dead, or alive, horrific and disgusting. Unsettling.

Who are you? What is this from?

Puzzle (P)ieces

7 sided options
Nothing seems to fit
Perimeter is built with
Holes in the center of it
A flower with no stigma
A tower with no stairs
An hour with no senses
No flower, no tower, no hour
It was glued together
With complete dishonesty
A matter for disaster
A matter of course
It matters of course
A platter of matter
All four billion pieces
Tall and short pieces
The sand that makes the beaches
Dirty doormat walk on it
No sex better talk to it
Black scars turn blue
Blue turns scars black
This cannot go forward
This cannot go back
Standing in denial
Tortured on the rack
Witness of Belial
Fitness for the sack
One fucking piece is missing
One fucking piece it lacks
One fucking piece to wish
For one fucking simple fact
Define white when
The world is turning black
The truth is one girl
The curve of her back
The breath in her breasts
The love in her heart
The truth in her words
The heart in her love
The fire in her eyes
In her love the heart
The beauty in her ass
Love her in the heart
It was glued together
With complete dishonesty
Together forever means
Finding the missing piece

Inside (P)eace

Only one moment
Everything changed
The broken pieces in me
Are no longer to blame

Only one moment
I can breathe
Counting the minutes
End of reprieve

Only one moment
I can see
All the pieces fitting
Inside of me

Only one moment
I can be
As free as you
But I can see

Only one moment
I can feel
The end of this moment
Becoming real.

Missing (P)eace

Ice on fire
Hands and feet frozen
Heavy with bitter cold suffering
Thoughts tainted with fear
Evocation of insecurity
Obsession of the obsession
Killing of the day
Frosting the good
Firing up the bad
Needle in the eye
Splinter under the nail
A fever to denial
Weakness caused by strength
Sickness caused by health
Breathless air
Airless breath
The problem to the solution
The veins but not the blood
Power with no will
Oxidation and rust
Please take it away
Like every time before

Perfection From Within

Confined in the absence of all things there are no expectations. One does not say, “See you soon,” because there is nothing and nobody to be seen. There is no equal and opposite reaction because there is no action. Failing and succeeding are not possible. There is safety in stasis. Being confined in this state must assume there is no choice in the matter. Thus even the act of confinement itself is both blameless and inconsequential.

Perfection is allusive. The definition of perfection is in itself imperfect. The reason is because it exists outside of stasis. Perfection cannot be changed, it is not bad or good, and it only serves the purpose of showing itself. Only in the absence of all things does perfection exists. Only in thought can you achieve the absence of all things.

Stasis exemplifies perfection. Those seeking it need only to stop trying. Because only those who do nothing will ever reach such a high plateau; further, will be the only ones to reach perfection at all. Stop thinking. Can you?

Perchè il mondo non finirà

Apparteniamo ad una razza infelice.
L' infelicità è il motore del mondo.
Ergo, il mondo non finirà.

Questi piedi

Questi piedi hanno camminato su scogliere mediterranee, su finissime sabbie caraibiche e goduto delle carezze degli oceani.
Questi piedi hanno percorso chilometri tra tavoli di ristoranti per serate intere, e veloce che la signora vuole il conto.
Questi piedi hanno calzato a fatica scarpe costose e alla moda; questi piedi si sono rifugiati per anni in decine di paia di anfibi, stesso modello ma colori diversi. Questi piedi hanno ballato a malavoglia stupide danze di gruppo. Questi piedi hanno suonato per tante persone.Questi piedi hanno sudato, puzzato, patito funghi e verruche presi in piscine comunali. Questi piedi hanno creduto di fuggire gli sguardi di chi neanche li guardava. Questi piedi hanno odiato essere cosi' grandi, hanno odiato quell'alluce valgo che fa male anche senza scarpe.
Questi piedi hanno scalato montagne famose ed altissime; questi piedi hanno lavorato, dolenti e gonfi, trascinandosi per ore lungo i corridoi di aerei pieni di passeggeri assetati, affamati, reclamanti o comunque incazzati per qualsiasi altro motivo.

Questi piedi sono scappati via da altri due piedi innamorati, sotto il buio delle lenzuola, mentre due amanti facevano l'amore.
Questi piedi hanno premuto frizione, acceleratore, freno, acceleratore, frizione, freno, stop.
Freno a mano.
Questi piedi, per fermarsi, hanno avuto bisogno di una mano. Di due mani. Di una mano che tirasse la leva di un freno e di un'altra che aprisse la portiera di un'auto.Questi piedi, per la prima volta, si sono lasciati massaggiare. Da due mani che non erano queste mani. Da due mani che li amano, nonostante questi piedi siano brutti e grandi.
Questi piedi, finalmente, accarezzano altri due piedi innamorati sotto le lenzuola, mentre due amanti fanno l'amore.

Chiodo scaccia chiodo - ovvero: condannati alla dipendenza

La prima condizione necessaria alla disintossicazione è la volontà ferrea ed irremovibile di interrompere qualsiasi contatto con la sostanza intossicante. Con l'aiuto di una clinica specializzata, preposta all'assistenza del soggetto e all' accertamento dell' effettiva astinenza dalla suddetta sostanza, il soggetto ha buone probabilità di disintossicarsi completamente e definitivamente, ferma restando la volontà - una volta allontanatosi dalla "coscienza aliena" incarnata dal personale della clinica nel quale è avvenuto il processo di disintossicazione - di mantenere la distanza di sicurezza dalla sostanza intossicante.

La faccenda diventa estremamente complicata quando ci si deve disintossicare da una sostanza vitale.
L'alcolizzato smette di bere, e fin quando non tocca una goccia d'alcohol tutto scorre liscio. Niente bar, niente amicizie cattive, e le cose vanno bene. Certo, ogni tanto la tentazione fa capolino, ma fin quando non si ricomincia a bere non si ricade nell'abisso. Stessa cosa per il cocainomane, o il fumatore incallito. Lontano dagli occhi, dalla bocca, dal naso, e lontano anche dal cuore; quasi ci si dimentica dell'esistenza delle sostanze che prima scandivano il tempo delle nostre vite.
E io, bulimica, io iperfagica, cosa faccio? Smetto di mangiare per sempre?
Come disintossicarsi dal cibo, se per disintossicarsi occorre evitare completamente ogni rapporto con esso? Smettere di mangiare, è ovvio, equivale a morire. L'iperfagico, o il bulimico, sembrano quindi destinati, se sussiste la mancanza di sufficiente istinto suicida, alla dipendenza perenne. O all'anoressia, della quale ho nozioni scientifiche a sufficienza per scrivere un'enciclopedia, ma conoscenza personale equivalente a zero. Per questa ragione scelgo di non parlarne.

Cercare di riportare l'iperfagico ad un comportamento alimentare regolare, sarebbe come cercare di portare l'eroinomane ad un uso razionale dell'eroina: una pura contraddizione in termini.

Una via d'uscita potrebbe intravedersi se si sposta il fuoco del proprio obiettivo sulla ricerca del reale agente intossicante nel quadro di un disturbo alimentare da abuso di cibo.
E' davvero il cibo a creare la dipendenza? La maggior parte degli iperfagici e dei bulimici dichiara di non provare un reale senso di fame, quando una crisi è in atto. Se fosse davvero il cibo a creare la dipendenza, la fame sarebbe uno dei sintomi principali. Invece, a scatenare una crisi sono fattori che, se si osserva la faccenda da troppo vicino (o da troppo lontano), potrebbero risultare apparentemente non connessi al cibo.

Emozioni. Le emozioni sono la miccia della crisi. Dunque il cibo le esorcizza, le riempie o le svuota, le ridicolizza o le enfatizza, le rende ciò che il cervello non è in grado di rendere.
La dipendenza dell'iperfagico è dunque una dipendenza da ciò che il cibo rappresenta, e non dal cibo in sè.
Conclusione che definire scontata è quasi un complimento, dunque perchè scrivo ciò?
Scrivo tutto questo in quanto frutto di un personale calvario che dura da anni. Scrivo questo perché coloro che, cercando di soccorrere familiari o amici affetti da disturbi alimentari come quello di cui sto scrivendo, evitino di consigliare loro di "cercare un equilibrio interiore".
Che si guardi in faccia il problema. L'unico rimedio per uscire da questa dipendenza è crearne una che la sostituisca. Possibilmente meno nociva di quella che si cerca di eliminare - non vorrei essere denunciata per induzione all' uso di sostanze stupefacenti (non sono neanche certa dell'esistenza di questo reato!).
Qualcuno potrebbe dire che, se il problema è la gestione delle emozioni, la psicoterapia potrebbe insegnare all'iperfagico e al bulimico come gestirle senza usare il cibo. Vero!Dunque, se la psicoterapia ha funzionato, non si è fatto altro che creare una nuova dipendenza. La dipendenza da psicoterapia.