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5:35 p.m. - 01/09/01
please don't let my parents kill me. please don't give up yet.
eeeeew ::pain::

Starvation is a fuzzy fog around my head. If I sound incoherent, yell at me, (but not too loudly or I might fall over.) I started restricting again, and I could tell this was worse than what I did last week because that was a goal of eating less while this was a goal of eating nothing, and while then I felt the need to get on track, I sat in the IOP today and cried because I don't know which road to take, and that's so scary. I cry like a little kid and an old woman, rolled together and confused.

Beware the oncoming, really awful metaphor.

Imagine being a child, (unborn), whose mother for some stupid medical reason would not be able to survive labor, or even carrying the baby to term. Imagine the doctor suggested the mother have an abortion to save her own life, and the devastated mother refused, ready to exchange her life for that of her child. Now imagine the child knew this, was aware that all of this was going on, and had a way to stop its own growth. The child looks at its options- it can either kill its home, its mother, its world - or it, itself, can die. The child curls into a very firm ball and cries then (which is most likely biologically impossible) because it doesn't want to die, and it doesn't want to live in a way that's going to destroy others, and in its silly dichotomous head, those are the only two options. So it cries.

I curled into that firm ball today and I cried the old-woman-infant-cry. Because I don't know what to do. On one end of my "spectrum" I continue on as an awful, disgusting, destructive person. On the other, I die, and despite the fact that I don't know how many suicidal thoughts I've had this past week, I really don't want to die. I think about it because I think it's for the greater good because I get so scared of living with the shame of who I am, but I honestly don't want to put an end. I have spiritual beliefs, but they don't exactly lead to harpsichords and fuzzy clouds. With Tracy gone, I keep feeling like there's this void girls get sucked into, like death is just this big black hole of a thousand dimensions- this massive space with wholes and whirlpools and brambles- and you wander around for ages in search of something, in search of someone, and I keep thinking Tracy's in that place, that awful place, and as bad as I feel, as much as I know I deserve to be dead, I don't want to be...

I don't want to die now- please. But it's like a spectrum with no space. One dot is being hellborn, the other is hellbound. And with things so black-and-white there's little space to tread on, so they blur. My spectrum is like two periods .. that touch, so close not even the cursor can get through.

Going to the day-program helped, though, even if I was a silly tearball. Shawn's gone into residential, so for today at least, I was the only person there. (I'm terrified because I think I saw two of the prospective members, and they look like Neverland cheerleaders, and as often as I connected to cheerleaders upon knowing them in the singular, I still want to run and hide after spoting them.) But today it was just me, and I made it through that well enough. I talked a lot about why I'm not eating, and why I've been cutting, and why I'm so evil. I even told them about the not-so-kind words I received these past few days (thank all of you who sent the kind ones; they are helping some). It's been very painful; I want to curl up in someone's arms...I've been thinking maybe I should find a way to go home (back to Neverland) soon and see mis chicas...they're good at holding me. I just want like a big room with a big circular purple couch we can all sprawl upon and there won't be any stupid politics, and the stress part of my headache will go away, while the food part is counteracted by silly things - like orange popsicles.

[psst...do you remember the popsicles?]

I wouldn't want to host it, though; that's the thing. And though I know a friend who'd host, I don't want to be some guest-of-honor crazy girl. I just want to find a room, with walls that aren't brightwhite, and a carpet that's kind of faded and a big purple circle couch we can all fall asleep on.

I'd settle for one of those big pools of balls they have at kid restauarants. Maybe when my brother gets famous, he can have one installed in my backyard. I think I'd like that.

I have these dreams sometimes where I can skate on air. It isn't really flying; I just walk, but it's more fluid and I don't touch ground. When I need more support, I push off, like one does when skating. (If one can skate, which I cannot. I look like Bambi on an icy lake.) When I wake up, I'm confused that I can't really do that, that I can't really get around without stepping on things. And sometimes the people in the dreams tell me I'm magic, and I laugh because what I do is so natural to me (and really I was just too lazy to put on shoes and didn't want to hurt my feet on the gravel kind of thing) and still, it's so sweet to be magic.

I think I'd like to have friends again. I just get so scared, seeing all these girls with the muted blue eyemakeup and the perfect clothes. I forget about girls like the one who worked at the crappy supermarket. Good, non-threatening, atomtypes.

I want to be good and non-threatening again. That's another thing I cried for. I cried because I was watching Shannon and Bronwyn eat, and everything about them, their conversation, their Tupperware and Ziploc bags, made me ache. I wanted so much to be that, to be normal, neutral, to not be bad. I wanted it so much that I helped them try to wedge space back between the periods and remind me that shame may be my reality but there's a reason for that, beyond "it's true". It's my reality because it helps me survive.

I think, in truth, if I could find that couch with those friends, I'd probably just fall asleep and they'd have to entertain themselves for a few days until I was conscious again. But they'd be cute and do silly things like make me wake up and take my meds, and wake up and eat some of this yummy [insert non-threatening, non-ED food here] they made, and then stroke my hair and tell me bedtime stories that kept me awake because they kept me laughing.

I wish I had my old bed where I used to have nights like that with people. I wish I had my own room. This is the first night I've ever missed Neverland. I guess I'm lonely. How common of me. Quick, do something non-statistical.

*dances like a platypus*

I'm not going to cut anymore. If for no other reason than if these scratches I have now don't heal fricking *soon* my parents are going to find out what I did and then I won't have a choice in whether or not I'm dead. (Not that I didn't get close when I knocked over my father's bass yesterday, or tonight when my punching bag fell off the garage roof onto my mother's new car.) No, I mustn't give them extra reasons to strangle me because, unlike certain members of the Simpson family, I bruise easily.

Speaking of, I think I'll go watch it. The Simpsons, that is. And try not to draw *too* many more parallels, though it is slightly less disturbing those all the American Beauty/ mi familia common denominators, certainly.

-

dear santa claus-

my name is mary, and i wouldn't normally bother you, but i thought maybe you had some extra time with the holidays ending and all, and you might be able to do me a favor...when you're done resting. i would really like a miracle. i know they're hard to come by, and i'm too old to be cute like in the movies, but it would mean so much if i could please just have this one miracle. i know that there are lots of times when i got miracles (check god's backlog; i'm really a spoiled kid) but see, there's this one thing holding me back, and i know that sounds silly because there are usually so many factors in a circumstance, but *really* i think i'd be ok, if i could just not be evil anymore. please. i think i'd be ok, if you could clean me up a little. i want to be shiny like a sleighbell and that pure. i've got lots of time, my birthday is over a month away, and i know you're schedule is probably real busy, even in the off-season, but please - Sir - if sometime in the near future you get the inclination, i'd really like to be good again. i don't know what happened to me that damaged me like this, but i really think i could pull off decency if you just gave me the chance. thank you. be sure to talk it over with whomever you think would be helpful, and give my regards to mrs. claus, the reindeer, and all the elves.

sincere love,

mary

-

chord

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