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10:00 p.m. - 02/06/02
sold my transitions and my translations in a two-for-one.
I had plans of writing this surprisingly hopeful entry that would make everyone happy for me and help them touch on their own fuzziness...but then I talked to my mom. Morale plummeting...

I did have a very nice (very *long*) talk with my sister tonight. Poor dear is going to have one hell of a phone bill. But we talked about my play and her play and the fact that they aren't the exact same play after all. Plus- what we discussed what we need to do with them, and since hers is about generational sexual abuse, we talked about that for awhile as well. And I found out she hates Stewert, (like literally, *hates* him) which kind of made me feel better in a weird sort of confused way. The even better news is that she's dedicating her (really really amazing) piece to Anna, who I've decided is basically my hero because she's actively breaking the cycle by informing Stewert's (blech) wife of what he did.

The fuck isn't remorseful at all. It sickens me. At least my brother knows what the hell he did and lives with the pain of it. Not the way Sarah lives with the pain of it ... but shit ... at least he's not a being of complete disgust.

And I told Sarah about my new prospective college, which she checked out and is very excited for...addedly so because it means we can catch a train in either direction and be at hand-hold distance for a weekend...but it will still be *my* place because no one has ever been anywhere remotely related to it...except perhaps Dale on some random business trip. It isn't like going to LA or NYC or somewhere else that feels...pre-discovered. Plus the school is too perfect to pass up, and I am just a happy little ribbitgrrl.

Except that I'm not...not really. Suicidal a bit again today. I feel like an ingrate. I have great friends, great siblings, toxic-but-not-abusive parents, a room that would make most kids my age flip...and a supportive team of professionals trying to help me get through my shit (how many people get that kind of attention? how many people just muddle their way through?) ... yet ... I feel lost. Still.

So much so that when I get letters like this one - this amazing, incredible, kindkind letter from Harriet, I don't know whether to hug her or hit myself. Because a girl with such a life as mine should not consider abandoning it.

Blerg. At least I'm being honest once again. I'm so tired of alternately being minimilist and melodramatic. Sarah said to me today, "Why do we all want to be fairies with wings? Why doesn't anyone want to be a woman with feet?" Are we less beautiful for being visible or simply more afraid?

I won't abandon my wings, but I'm not about to cut off my feet either.

Anyway - the letter:

Dear Mary,

I am glad you felt safe sharing such profound feelings, thoughts and longings with me. Thank you. I know you are struggling now...a lot. I imagine it is sometimes confusing to know who you can look at, turn to, trust, with such deep parts of who you are. I am honored you are letting me know all the different aspects of yourself, your strengths and yourlongings, your sadness and your joy, your fears and hopes. This richness in you is what makes you unique, and allows you to touch so many with your writing.

I hear you are struggling a lot with many feelings. That must feel scary and difficult. I am understanding that for so much of your life, you have felt all alone with such big, complicated feelings. I am glad you are telling me all about them...and you.

Your longings are human and connect you with all of the human race. I am so glad to know these parts of you that are hungry for life. This is a good hunger!

I'm so glad to hear from you. I have been thinking of you, and look forward to seeing you on Friday.

Take care,
Harriet

*

She doesn't coddle, but she's not unkind. That's so difficult, but so beautifully helpful...and when she says things you can trust to be what she thinks, which is nice. She doesn't give me happywords to appease my needs; she doesn't allow me to manipulate her...which I appreciate. It's just sometimes I feel like I did when I was a kid lying against my mom trying to bring her fingers down to stroke my hair...night after night, trying to pull down her hand to touch me...and every time I let go, her hand just fell back to her side, unaware. There are things we don't want to have to ask for, and things we don't know we're allowed to need, and sometimes I just want someone to stroke me before I invite them too...(in a non-violating sort of way, o'course.)

I can't get out of this sweater- and it's a sweater I never wear. A navy, blue-grey, light-blue, white combination done out in an oddly regimented horizontal stripe patter against the weaving which is vertical. It's short-waisted which I'm told is a happy thing for my disproportioned-rectangular-self, but that's a scary kind of piece to wear. I don't know. Body image demons rising...anyway, I never wear it - moreso now because this one day at Rogers Tracy and I picked out each other's clothes, and she found it buried in a drawer and had me don it. I haven't been able to wear it since she died, and when I put it on a few days ago, I was completely blown away by how non-horrible it looked. (that has since faded at the hand of said body-image demons, but I've realized it's soft, and I must sleep because I'm hallucinating that it smells like her, or like home...or...something. I don't even remember those smells, honestly - it's a silly thought.) but I can't get out of it. I'm lucky it's not smelly and dirty and stained by now, but I guess it's just how much I need her. I want her close enough to be my chosen-skin.

I had nightmares again last night - after saying I wanted to be around people like those in my dreams. I dreamed that a guy came after me in a forest with a baseball bat. Just before that I was in a classroom watching a teacher instruct a group of people to hit each other to resolve some vengence. And afterward there was this very weird dream where I casually drank after someone with some fatal illness (like say, AIDS) and everyone freaked out and told me I was going to get the illness, which hadn't even occurred to me - and then we started joking about how I had it, and I was going to feel sick - but as started describing the symptoms, I started *having* the symptoms, in the agonizing pain of which my mom startled me awake. I think it had something to do with my pre-bed thoughts last night; I was thinking about how I sort of chose this illness - at least the bulimia part. I played with matches not thinking I could get addicted to the burns. (Fuck; I wish that were just a metaphor.) And by the time someone said to me, "Hey you could get sick" (jokingly, at first) I already was. I wonder what statement beyond my history the dream would have made had it gone on uninterrupted...perhaps I'll find out tonight.

I couldn't believe peregryn's entry on her family's multi-sensory abilities. Sometimes I forget how real paranormal experiences are, and I start to think my family is just crazy and enabling each other's overractive imaginations. But then I remember the experiences I've had, and how without telling each other when we finally shared things we'd seen, it turned out we described them the same, et cetera. The odd thing is I sort of have the choice of believing in what I've seen or throwing it out, the same way I do with all of my perception, and as I struggle to accept my five-sense life, I struggle with the other planes as well.

I will say that angels are not fairies with feathers for wings. Angels are actually a lot closer to humans - in a bizarrely beautiful, completely different sort of way...

At least the one I saw...

Imagine seeing an actual angel when you have so many human ones. I really must learn to act upon my gratitude and quit this despair business.

Bad depressive. No treat.
chord

p.s. make that "bunch of treats." it's more of a threat that way. sadly.

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