Sunday, November 17, 2002

still ill.

i stayed in bed all day today. i went out once to get some juice with vitamin C in it.

why did i stay in bed? i'm sick

but the word "sick" is a funny one. there's more than one connotation to it. perverts are sick. callous people are sick. violent people are sick. mentally ill people are sick.

yes. i have a cold

but i'm sick too. and that's my fault and my fault alone.
and i'm not trying to be cool. this isn't hip or sexy. you'd have to be a necrophiliac to get off on it. it's EVIL. it's WRONG and i'm changing it. i care too much about everyone to get down because of a... er... cold. yeah.
death is hip like MTV's hip. it's giving up. it's boring. it's everything i'm against. so fuck me. no more.

Wednesday, November 13, 2002

shell

i've never been fair. i've never been fair to myself or to the people i love. i'm just enough withdrawn that i have a hard time telling people what i want, but enough outward at the wrong moments that i ruins everything. who would believe the emotionless dolt? who would ever think he wanted something? i probably wouldn't. but i'd be wrong.

Friday, November 08, 2002

falling.

Got the great idea to go read the books
way at the top of the cathedral,
the ones with pictures of smoking bob-haired women
without lipstick
on black and white covers
kept by the stone ledge.
Dropped a carton of fries in
the trash and jammed buttons with
a greasy thumb.
Got to the 11th floor and
elevator fell out from under me,
dissolved beneath ripped up plastic
shoes and I kicked skinny
legs in space.
Heard an old bearded man cry about
a grey painting i'd never seen as i went past
floor 10.
Halfway caught fuzzy glimpses of
woman shadows in the corners
of the 5th.
And I heard a quiet child's voice
tremble
in a quiet song my mom sang me to sleep with
when i was 4:
"Red and yellow and pink and green,
purple and orange and blue,
You can sing a rainbow, sing a rainb-"
Cut short and tape clicked out
when my head bashed into concrete
basement and fractured bones into metal floor,
splashed my spit all over homecoming posters
on the wall.

"...you can sing a rainbow too."

Thursday, November 07, 2002

stupid.

i was telling myself, recently, that i don't care about food. i never have. just something that happened and you weren't supposed to obsess about.

but i thought about it for a little while, and that's not true at all.

i started reading ingredients and nutritional information shortly after i learned how to read well (yeah yeah yeah... 1st grade is sooooo late to learn how to read. haha).
i've been pretty aware of what's in stuff for a while, i just never really thought about it. really really fattening food has always made me feel kind of sick, just thinking about it. saying the name "mcdonalds" makes my throat hurt. it seriously does and it has forever.

milk is gross.
apple sauce is nasty.
apple juice tastes terrible.
mint is too harsh.
bacon fat is sick.
american cheese is rancid.

i could spout off the complete lists of all the foods i hated and why. obsession with textures and feelings and physical effects. when i was in 7th grade my mom had a book all about the nutritional content of the items in every restraunt and around the house. i read most of it because i thought it was interesting (want to know what the worst fast food offender is? the taco tub at taco john's... deep fried, ya know). food was gross but fascinating too.

this is weird, eh? i'm a stick. realistically, i'm probably underweight. the real question is whether you're underweight enough. i've been harassed my whole life for being a light rag. at some point, i think i just decided to embrace that and live up to it. "so i'm nothing? you're right i AM nothing. just watch and see how much nothing i can really be. don't you wish you could be my size?"

in 9th grade, something weird happened. i got this idea that i was going to be a "starving writer." not a writer who might be forced to starve to write, but i actually had this romantic idea that i was going to starve to death and never be a successful writer. "how cool is that?" i asked someone. they looked offended. it took me years to figure out why. i've always known myself as an ugly person. a long time ago, i used to have this idea that the world had two kinds of people: attractive ones and unattractive ones. i thought that which one you were could only be objectively discovered by the opposite sex. everyone had to wait until an unbiased person of the other sex told them whether they were attractive or not. i grew up wondering. in 7th grade, in PE (a place where i was really vulnerable), i thought i found out. we were playing kickball and some girl who was in 9th grade made an offhand comment about how at least her boyfriend didn't look like the people waiting to kick (that included me and one other person). i was pretty certain from that point forward that no one would ever want anything to do with me and that i'd die alone.

two years later was when i decided to tell the world to go die and that i was going to be an unhealthy, addicted, skinny, starving dead person. it felt right.

one night sticks out. it was shortly before i began high school. i had determined to be the only thing i thought i could be: an intellectual writer. i sat down in the early evening with a glass of water and a book. i went the whole night without eating, didn't goto sleep and managed to finish the book. i felt tired but good. i've always been a really slow reader, so finishing a book in a night made me feel great. i also noticed something else: if i kept drinking water and thinking about how sophisticated i was, i didn't get hungry. the pangs died away, the longer i went. probably didn't help that i read kafka's "hunger artists" story shortly afterwards.

i don't think i really have a full-blown eating problem. but i think various things have been edging me closer and closer to the cusp of one. i think dangerous things and sometimes they make me forget to live.

i would give anything to just not have to think about food anymore and to eat naturally. why the hell can't i do that? i want to sit down and eat waffles without feeling guilty. why do i feel that way? i SHOULDN'T. i'm light. i tell myself that over and over and over again and i keep setting specific times to make and eat something, but the feeling never goes away. i keep waking up and going to school without thinking about food until i get home and go "oh shit..."

i don't know why i do this. it doesn't make any sense and it's offensive on face. killing yourself isn't supposed to feel good.

right now i think back to my friends in high school, when we'd one up each other on the pretentiousness scale, esp with food. "Ew. My gawwd. You aren't going to eat that are you? It's dripping with calories."

How stupid of them. How stupid of me.