9:10 p.m. - 01/12/02
the atomallies. our chord has co-conspirators.
John told me tonight that I'm the eighth dwarf, and I laughed so hard I decided not to feel guilty. I was looking through my distorted eyes at my distorted perception in the distorted glass and I started bitching about how I'm so "lumpy" and he told me I sounded like the eighth dwarf, which was too amusing for me to remain in my shame, which is nice, because earlier tonight I was considering either a) breaking every breakable point in the contract I signed - i.e. cutting and restricting and completely losing my mind or b) calling Harriet and telling her that as sorry as I am for interrupting her, it isn't really an emergency except that I've destroyed my home and now I think I'll proceed to fully destroy myself, or would she be interested in intervening?
Some days I keep expecting to wake up and am amused when the hours go on long enough for me to go to sleep. I never dream I go to sleep, so I know that if I'm lying down, I really have been awake and whatever bullshit or glory I've been through was real. So here's what's real today: Dr. R promised me once that he was going to do everything in his power to change things in my home, and apparently he is a very powerful man, because after the session today my parents (at his suggestion) moved all their shit down from the almost-very-cool-loft portion of the house into the almost-fit-for-solitary-confinement hole I was living in. Meaning, now, I have pretty much the entire upstairs, including the two (count 'em, two) windows, the deck, my own littl' itsy-bitsy bathroom, the closet, et cetera, whereas before I had the fucking cow's room. (Here's an idea: when deciding to move, don't move to the middle of nowhere. If you must move to the middle of nowhere, do not buy a home that was once a barn, and if for some reason, you, too are deranged the way my parents are and decide to buy a shack that once housed farm animals, do not give your eating-disordered daughter the room where either the cow or horse slept. Kapeesh?)
I felt guilty for most of the day; in fact that's what led up to me almost completely giving up and not eating dinner, cutting, et cetera, but then I realized that no matter what happened today, even if Dr. R had never suggested something so crazy as torturing my parents in this way, I would have been guilt-tripped into feeling awful about myself, and *this way* I get a decent room out of it. I mean, it's not exactly grounds to stay here, but it's grounds not to slit my throat with a safety pin.
(Sometimes, I do actually think about doing things like that. I know how real they are when I type them as jokes and the little veins in my wrists and pinkies jump as if intrigued. Fuck.)
I cuss a lot when I've had a bad day, been around my brother, and am now feeling amused. So it's a good sign, really. No one should be concerned. And I got two of the greatest e-mails today, plus an e-mail from one of the greatest girls ever (my Brooke) which comes to a grand total of 10K in my favor (with an added message from one Dr. Judie, who I finally got in touch with after two months of not seeing her...) But the really cool messages were the 4K ones (4k! I'm usually lucky to get a *line*) from Mandy and Harriet. I wrote Mandy this crazy letter where I sound positive and Harriet this crazy letter where I sound guilty, and I got the best letters back. As awful as I felt when I read Billy and Zach's letters, that's how good I felt just looking at these girls' names in my box. Yes.
(I have this thing lately where I'm not saying "man" and "women" again. I'm saying girl and boy. I think I'm having trouble growing up. I have memories of walking around Rogers, always singing "I don't wanta grow up/ I'm a Toys-R-Us kid..." and not knowing why. I'm reading too much into it, but I used to say fuck faster than I'd say woman, then I started to like both words, (though not *necessarily* in the same sentence, mwa-ha-ha...here come the 5 e-mails again), and now I seem back at square one.)
Well, maybe not, as "fuuuuuuuuuccccccccccck" and I still seem to be on good terms. Long as she stays an expletive and refrains from becoming a verb.
You know what makes me happier than a kitten on scotch? Feeling *worth something* for a second, feeling like the only useless thing I can do would be to give up...simply because if I *tried* - too many people would put their worlds on hold to fight for me.
I LOVE YOU...the flowers are fit for yellow covers again; I'll be writing shitty love poems if this feeling lasts.
chord
p.s. I'm still really terrified of school - but...see...it's ok to feel more than emotion at once sometimes.
�
�
