Dichotomy

Bulimia and New York City. Two places, one in the mind, the other on the map, both in my soul.

Bulmia. Binging and purging. Chaos and calm. Full and empty. Companionship and solitude. The act of binging is a frantic one. "I feel lonely. I need company. Nobody loves me. Food loves me. I need food. More food. More more more. NOW. Fill me up. Surround me like a blanket so I don't feel so scared." Colors everywhere, the world is vibrant.

Panic. "What did I just do? How could I lose control? I'm weak! Pathetic! I hate myself!" Purge. Get it all out. "I want to be empty. I want to be free. I want to be alone. I want to be clean, pristine, perfect." Everything is white.

New York City. Two-faced. One side is money, power, privilege. Sharp edges, clean lines, exacting design. "I want to make something of myself. I want everybody to know my name. I want to be seen. Respected. Remembered." Buttoned-up and polished.

The other side, wild. Anything goes. "I want to be sexual. I want to be who I am, and nobody else. I don't care what anybody thinks. I want to live, to create, to die. I want to break the rules, smash in the windows. Fear me, loathe me, misunderstand me." Broken-down and messy.

Bulimia and New York City. Two places, one in the mind, the other on the map, both in my soul.