1. It eases my pain (like alcohol, but no hangover)
2. It makes me thin (eliminates one problem)
3. It helps me cope with all the problems of life (is helpful to me sorting out my other problems, so its proactive)
4. It makes me express my suffering that I cannot otherwise express (but it doesn't fully express it)
5. It gives me comfort.
The kind of comfort I imagine a beautiful girl could give, the comfort of being understood by someone, to be held in a gentle, tender embrace, to have her stroke my hair, kiss my tears away, have her hand on my chest as I tremble, when I am in distress, she is there to save me, to protect me, to make everything better, she's going to carry me in her arms as I am weak, and save me from all the bad things.
But, the more I purge, the more it is just a pursuit for the idea of that kind of comfort. It stops feeling comforting, it just feels like I do it to remember the first time I had that comfort, yet, ironically, it is a way of escaping when I really had that moment. As I sat on the street at night, with Marie, holding her, as we sat together on the pavement, talking.
I want to just scream....
I wish there was a Jesus, because I need someone to save me...please save me, someone...
2. It makes me thin (eliminates one problem)
3. It helps me cope with all the problems of life (is helpful to me sorting out my other problems, so its proactive)
4. It makes me express my suffering that I cannot otherwise express (but it doesn't fully express it)
5. It gives me comfort.
The kind of comfort I imagine a beautiful girl could give, the comfort of being understood by someone, to be held in a gentle, tender embrace, to have her stroke my hair, kiss my tears away, have her hand on my chest as I tremble, when I am in distress, she is there to save me, to protect me, to make everything better, she's going to carry me in her arms as I am weak, and save me from all the bad things.
But, the more I purge, the more it is just a pursuit for the idea of that kind of comfort. It stops feeling comforting, it just feels like I do it to remember the first time I had that comfort, yet, ironically, it is a way of escaping when I really had that moment. As I sat on the street at night, with Marie, holding her, as we sat together on the pavement, talking.
I want to just scream....
I wish there was a Jesus, because I need someone to save me...please save me, someone...
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