Friday, May 28th, 2004 | 2:30
What's the sense in being so sensitive?

It's two in the morning and I'm not going anywhere.

I've been suffering through the last of a cough for the past four days. My voice is terrible but I will still sing to Sarah Harmer shamelessly in my automobile.
Also, I will never sleep again.
Once again, my words aren't flowing right, so this is a little... unpolished.
Say, for argument's sake, that I hate my body. It's pudgy and comfortable and any other euphemism you can think of for "out of shape" and "not very attractive". Also, suppose that I eat a lot, and a lot of crap but that I keep it down.
I'd like to be thinner, significantly thinner ideally, but I just get too hungry (and the idea of intentionally vomiting up an entire meal seems both wasteful and just plain gross).

So the question is, "Do I have an eating disorder or just horrible body image?"
I told the doctor I often feel like dying would be the easier choice. She wanted me to promise to call someone if I was actually going to kill myself. "A little bit of a contract," she said. I agreed to facilitate things. I didn't have the patience to explain to her that if I wanted to do it, no verbal agreement I'd made with a stranger was going to deter me. That can of worms was more than we could have covered in the remaining ten minutes of our faux t�te-to-heart.

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