Black Numbers
Description
The gentle swiping of feet on relentless fake marble momentarily distracts him from the oncoming fate he’d given himself. Swish, swish, swish. Before he can blink he’s in front of the contraption he’s come to hate with a bitter passion.
He hates it so much, and yet it’s the only thing keeping him sane.
Foreword
You begin to forget what it means to live. You forget things. You forget that you used to feel all right. You forget what it means to feel all right because you feel like all of the time, and you can’t remember what it was like before.
- Marya Hornbacher, Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia
Comments