anne, eventually

We Are Nowhere and It's Now

2009-10-22T21:52:20Z

My grandmother is dead. Just like that. She had swine flu, and she passed before I could even get a plane ticket to see her. My grandmother died, and the next morning, I was nominated for Homecoming Queen, and I want to say that I would have called her to tell her, but I hadn't called in over a month. She had no clue who I was...and I was doing so well, and then I slipped...and me me me, it was all about me. I didn't want to call her, so I didn't. It shouldn't have mattered if she knew me at all; it still would have been her on the other side of the line. But I didn't, and now she's gone.

We're flying out, on the Hirsches' plane, after Logan's game on Friday: Mrs. Hirsch, Logan, Bee, and me. Dawn offered to come, but I didn't want to make things weird with Dad. She comes out of the closet and he accepts her; I have the audacity to be less than perfect and he pushes me away. Maybe I said no to Dawn not because of Dad, but because when I see her, all I can see is that she's his favorite daughter now. He doesn't need me anymore.

My grandma needed me; I was her one last piece of Alma in the world. And what did I do, I pushed her away. I cut off ties with my father, and I'm angry at Sharon over the letter, and I'm so jealous of Dawn, and I don't know my mother.

I'm my own family now. And I've never felt so small.

cutemaryanne @ 2009-09-22T22:52:00

2009-09-23T10:53:21Z

All is Love

2009-09-08T02:40:49Z

There's this line, in You've Got Mail, where Tom Hanks says that the autumn makes him think of bouquets of freshly sharpened pencils.

I love that smell.

In a few weeks...the stress of five APs, of keeping all of these As spotless and lined up neat and identical on my report card, lined up like soldiers, will ruin this, but right now, before the first day, everything about school is still perfect and clean and waiting for me. I love school. I love learning. I love hanging pictures on a locker door, I love the crisp covers on textbooks, I love the smell of an eraser on the page. I love school.

And right now, still...it loves me back.

Flying High

2009-08-24T00:44:24Z

I'm home. I had one of those summers that...only really happens in books or movies, where everything happens all at once, and you feel lifted someplace higher. Higher than the girl who wrote in May that she was so depressed that she never thought she'd escape. But I have, and I touch my back and wonder if someone put wings there.

For the first time in...years, I'm eating when I'm hungry, and I think it shows: I look better. I haven't gained much, but I took all of the size tags out of my clothes, so instead of it being a size zero shirt, it's just my shirt. I went riding a lot, and i listened to my body, adjusting to the horse and afterwards when it ached, so I'm okay with listening to my body when it needs fuel. Fuel to take flight, I guess. I was going out and getting sun, here and in Italy and in California, just drinking up the sun, taking photos wherever I could. I let it all pour into me, and I had energy that I had forgotten I had. And working for Samantha, even when it was total grunt work, so thankless...it was always full of thanks. Maybe this is more than a hobby: maybe all of those years standing on the sidelines has brought me here, to a place where my passivity is really active.

Do I sound like I'm bragging? That's not right: I'm just happy. I'm just strong, I feel strong. My whole life, I've lived to make other people happy, and right now, no matter what I do, I can't make Dad happy until he starts to heal himself, so the only person I can make happy is me.

This summer, I've only had that fog feeling, that lost-in-my-own-darkness feeling once. Maybe twice. And maybe, now that I'm home and surrounded by people I love...maybe I won't ever feel that way again. Maybe I'm all better: I might be. I think I am. I'm all better, all I needed was me.

If You Were Here

2009-08-07T14:15:21Z

John Hughes died. Sixteen Candles is my all-time favorite movie, even more than Roman Holiday or anything that Cameron's been in. I remember the first time I saw it: I was ten. I usually had old women as my baby-sitters, but Dad had hired this high school girl that Mrs. Thomas had recommended; well, not so much recommended, but Mrs. Thomas said that Laura was nice, made sure everyone had their homework before TV time, did the dishes, and didn't burn the house down.

And she was nice, she did make sure I had all of my homework done, though there wasn't much. And the house...well. Anyway. I had taken my copy of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, which was my favorite book at that time, since I would discover Wuthering Heights and Jane Austen the next year, and curled up in a chair. Laura turned on the TV and pulled out a VHS tape, put it in, and grabbed the phone, saying she had to quick call her boyfriend.

I meant to ignore her, but I couldn't: I was transfixed, I couldn't stop watching what was on the TV. And she talked for an hour with her boyfriend, and then called her best friends after that, and I just watched the movie. The exotic and exciting and scary party, the awkward dance, the wedding. Samantha, jaded and yet so vulnerable; Samantha, who was overlooked and forgotten, but so special. And Farmer Ted, geeky yet totally confident...and Jake Ryan. Jake, who was the golden boy who didn't want a girl like Caroline. Without talking to her or even knowing her, Jake knew that he wanted a girl like Samantha. I felt so much like her, in Kristy and Claudia's shadow, in Dad's, seeing Sixteen Candles wasn't just a glimpse into High School. It was this little whisper that said, There's hope. Someone like Jake would see me. And I'd see myself.

Then what happens: the first day of eighth grade, I got a Jake...and I still have him. I go to dances and feel awkward, too. I still feel weird and unsure and scared and lost, even though I know I have something in me that...is something. I always cry at the end of the movie, when Jake tells Samantha to make a wish, and she said it's come true, and they kiss, lit by the glow of the candles. It's so perfect, it's so perfect, I can hardly breathe.

I always felt like the movie knew me, before I knew myself, and now, it knows where I'm going. Am I really Samantha? Do I get my happy ending, too? When should I breathe?

You're Happening to Me

2009-07-22T01:59:43Z

I haven't talked to Dad since Father's Day. I don't know how I feel about it, so...how can I write about it?

I haven't been writing much here at all, lately. In my dayplanner, I have a section for daily notes, and I guess I've been using that as a diary, but...I mean, one of the things that shattered my heart after the fire was losing years worth of diaries, and here I am, in one of the most important times of my life, living in New York, and...I'm not documenting every day here, dissecting every move.

Instead of writing them down...I'm seeing them all. With my new eyes. I feel like I'm seeing the world for the first time.

Another Girl's Paradise

2009-06-23T01:39:53Z

Stacey's stepmother called me today: I guess Stacey showed her some of the portraits from my photography project...and she thought they were good, really good. So good that she offered me a job this summer, an internship: I'd be an assistant on her photoshoots and her castings, help her with her equiptment and her studio...I'd be working for a real live well-known photographer! I'd have to move to New York for the summer, though Kevin and Shoshannah said that I could stay at the brownstone in the city with David; it didn't even hit me until after we three had talked it out that I had no intentions of asking for Dad's permission.

Not after what happened on Father's Day. No.

I don't want to leave here, my new home, Bee and all of my friends. Dawn. Loes. But if I told Samantha no, wouldn't I be doing what I've done all year? Putting everybody ahead of myself and nearly breaking apart over and over. It's like I have to give all I can because back in December, I took all of those pills and this is my penance. Have I done enough? I feel like I've been lying still on the bathroom floor, drowning in all of that water. Can I stand now? Can I walk into something new, something that's mine, and not be guilty?

Waiting for My Real Life to Begin

2009-05-25T10:48:48Z

Do I have a label on my head? This girl is disposable. This girl is invisible.

This girl is worthless. Walk through her. Bulldoze through her.

Rip her apart like Kleenex.

How many people have treated me badly my whole life because they thought they had more value than me? Corinne is just the latest. Susan...I'd like to believe her when she said she didn't know it was all to hurt me, but...she's a part of it, too, isn't she. I've been quiet and shy, but I've been good, and I don't hurt people, and I never ask for anything, and yet this happens over and over again.

You think it wouldn't hurt like this anymore. When my father's been doing this my whole life: not listening to me. Acting like he knows better, even when I hurt. Right for him is right for me.

I have a sparkling tiara on my bedside table now, and it glitters like a faraway star. I used to wish on stars for things, but all of my wishes were for him. I never wished for a first kiss or a boyfriend, like the other girls did. I wished for good grades for Dad. I wished that Dad would be happy. I wished that Dad would be happy with me. Even my dreams belong to him.

But I have a crown now that says that sometimes, you can flip it all upside down. Maybe this isn't a symbol of one crazy night. Maybe it's the first star of my own.

Hide and Seek

2009-05-17T00:52:13Z

I'm depressed.

Badly, lately. All I want to do is study, alone, in my room. Or climb in bed and not move. I told Theo that the photo project gets me out of bed some days...most days. I feel like I'm pretending, all the time. The only person I want to talk to, be with anymore, is Loes. Even Bee is hard sometimes, because she has so much energy, and I...I'm tired. I fight my way through the fog, I smile and act like I belong, I'm nice and perfect. All of these people need me to listen to them, help them, be there for him: I have to be perfect like they need me to be. So I'm perfect. Nobody would ever guess that I'm tarred on the inside.

I need something to change.

Today was the fourth day that I took the medication that Dr. Axtell prescribed. Four days, four pills. I need help, I need a way out, I need to change before I topple over the edge again.

I can't go back to where I was before. I want to be found.

Overkill

2009-04-28T12:10:50Z

When Logan and I broke up the first time, back in eighth grade, I forgave him, and he corrected what he was doing wrong: he had stopped listening to me. He stopped listening, and I forgot that to be listened to, you have to speak up. People not listening to what I say, though, has stayed with me. He doesn't do it anymore, he wouldn't dare, but...others do.

I've been trying to put my finger on why I haven't been eager to spend time with Carly lately. At first I thought it was because of that trust issue that was raised in our conversation, but that wasn't right: I give time to everyone, and Carly is a great, amazing, talented person, why wouldn't I want to spend time with someone like that, even if it never deepened into a friendship because of her own reservations? And then I realized it as Shoshannah made me a bowl of Cream of Wheat for breakfast: it's soft like soup but not as messy as oatmeal. I don't like oatmeal right now, it's so ragged looking, you can't keep it even as you eat it. I was smoothing the surface of the food and I looked up, it hit me that I hadn't even had to say that I was struggling, everyone knew. At some point, my voice stopped being important. Everyone can see that I've lost weight. That I'm...my food habits have picked up, that I'm counting every bite. My voice has disappeared: if I said I was fine, everyone would ignore me, wouldn't they.

Carly ignored what I said. And I'm upset. I guess I didn't realize it until just now.

Carly asked if I was upset; I said no, truthfully. I was worried for her, because she was...embracing loneliness as a life philosophy, and I...I don't know, I was worried for her. But I told her honestly that I wasn't upset, and that night, I thought it over...anyway, I wasn't. Then she emailed me, and I told her that everything was fine, but already I was a little...unsettled. She emailed, she didn't come talk to me. She emailed and apologized, and no matter what her epiphanies, the email was an apology for something I told her deserved no apology. And if that wasn't enough, then I went to her house for another round of apology and acceptance, and that headache that had been rumbling like distant thunder just poured out, and suddenly, I was back in middle school, and Logan was ordering my food for me and Kristy was telling me what to do and Dad was inspecting my braids and jumper and tights for spic-and-span perfection before sending me out the door, all of them thinking they knew me and knew what was best for me, and I never told them different until one day I finally told Dad no, then I told Logan no, and then last year, I finally told Kristy no. Carly isn't them, and I know that, but in that moment as she apologized for a third time...in the briefest, palest of ways, she was.

Just like when I look at Pete now, I don't know if I can trust him. I've been so busy with Latin States and having to take minutes at so many committee meetings, I haven't seen him much, but...oh, this is something for another journal, but I guess it boils down to: if he had no problems, no qualms, at making Andi's situation with Bruce so public...what about me? I think everybody knows that I have problems with food, but no one says anything. Still, everyone knows. But no one knows about my depression, no one knows about the hospitals and why I was there except for a very small group, and Pete's in that group...I don't know if I can trust him. Did he tell Emily? Did he show her the email that Logan sent? Am I going to see a story about an over-achiever with a detached father, a girl whose chase for perfection leads her to swallow a whole bottle of pills? Or will she change how I tried: hanging? Slit her wrists? Will that make it different enough?

How can I trust Pete? Maybe he's kept my secret, maybe the only people he's talked to are ones who also know; maybe he doesn't talk about it at all. But the problem is, he breached my trust, and it's come rushing out like sand from a broken hourglass, and I don't know how to get it all back again, and even if I do, not all of it can be put back, there will always be sand scattered and gone. Pete doesn't know. He thinks we're fine; he probably thinks I need to slow down. That I need to eat. But at least he thinks we're fine.

I wonder if Carly thinks we're fine now, too. After all...she did apologize three times.

One to Be For

2009-04-02T22:21:26Z

It was easy to figure out, when I was at the Lodge in Utah: I want to be a person that other people can confide in, I want to be a person that other people can turn to for sympathy and care and a shoulder to cry on, all because I didn't have that when I was growing up. Kristy was wonderful, but she never was the type to listen very well; the only person I had was Mimi, and I wanted to be Mimi to others. It's a very maternal thing, what I try to be for my friends, for strangers. But it makes me happy. My therapists, though, all of them from Dr. Reese to the doctors I have now, have told me that it's not my job to be the world's therapist. It's not my job to heal everyone.

Lately, I...first, I have to tell off Abby to get her to make a breakthrough, which is fine. But then I'm trying to reach out to Tree Daniels? I'm trying to convince Carly to trust people? The conversation with Carly left me confused...and tired. Not tired physically, exactly, but tired mentally because my first thought was, "Well, if she doesn't expect anything from relationships, then I'm going to be that friend who changes everything and fixes her of this!" But the idea of that made me so...tired. Wasn't I the one who told Logan that I have to fix myself? Isn't that the same for her? And more than that: when did I become the person who heals everyone? Dr. Axtell said that my problems are heavy and gigantic and exhausting, and when I put healing others over healing myself, I hurt myself, and that there's a difference between being a good friend and doing what I do sometimes...what I feel like I should do with Carly.

But I guess it's even more than that: it's that, ever since December, I thought Carly and I were building a friendship that started with our art bonding and was going deeper. But when she has this categorical rule that she'll only give so much...then do we have a real friendship at all? Is being more than just art friends...worth it with someone who isn't willing to have a relationship? I don't want to sit around and therapyspeak at each other when it's clear that under it all, she's not willing to invest in me like I'd be in her, and...that she doesn't trust me. I understand that her family has been hard, but...if she's that closed off, I'm not egotistical enough to think that I'll be the person to magically heal her after all of this time...I don't know. I just feel suddenly like she's fenced me away from her...and I don't know if I want to stand there with a pair of wirecutters and snap the electric wires that keep me away. At what point do I say that it's not worth it?

Ironic: Tree accused me of stealing Carly away from her. The truth is, Carly was never available to be stolen in the first place.

Fools Like Me

2009-03-31T03:02:03Z

Tree apologized, this half-hearted apology about how she lashed out and thought and still thinks that I "stole" Carly Orlov's friendship from her, and I was stupid enough to accept it before saying to her how her bitchy comment about Logan was totally out of line. She claimed she "blanked" on who Logan was, as if there are so many Logans in Stoneybrook and the world at large and...okay, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard and how she even thinks anyone but herself could fall for it, but...I don't know, I suppose, in her head, she's convinced herself it's true. What am I going to do, throw a fit? If I am writing in my journal, I bet she writes in hers about how sanctimonious I am, how awful I am, how maligned she is...she'll throw herself a pity party all across her page about how I lectured her over something that she didn't deserve.

I told her that not everybody is out to get her. Maybe I was wrong: I think Tree's her own worst enemy, so...I guess...someone is out to get her. Just that it's herself.

I suppose I feel bad for her, in a way? Feel sorry for her? But considering how much she hates me, and now that I think about it, she never apologized or even explained that after knowing me her whole life and never saying a cross word, getting along, I am friendly with her boyfriend and have always been and...how in one month she treated me so awfully, so grossly out of proportion, how...

Why am I wasting my time and energy and words on someone like her?

Some people are just mean. Some people are just bitches.

And some of them are named Tree Daniels. It's fools like me who forget they exist in the world.

Under Pressure

2009-03-04T03:37:30Z

Tomorrow's the High School National Latin Exam. Last year, I only got summa cum laude and the gold medal; this year, I want the perfect paper certificate. I've studied so much...

...I think I'm going to puke.

Fear City

2009-02-18T04:57:05Z

I don't know.

If someone hurt me, physically hurt me, I'd want...I'd expect Logan to defend me, to stand up for me. To hurt them like they hurt me. On the other...I'm angry at Pete for doing that. I'm pissed, genuinely upset at him, for something that I'd want Logan to do for me. I guess: no. I'd want Logan to defend me, but I wouldn't want it to be public. The fact that Pete did it in front of other people meant that everybody now knows. Everybody. Why couldn't he wait, why couldn't he do it in private! I don't understand.

I have trouble looking some of my friends in the eye sometimes, because they know: they know my dark secret, they know I was in a hospital, and so many of them know what I did, and I want to crawl out of my skin, I'm so shamed by the fact that they know. And I feel this pressure to be more perfect than ever around them, so that they think that I'm fine now. Maybe they'll forget. Maybe they'll forget that I smashed apart, maybe...if I were Andi, and everybody knew that my boyfriend beat me, I'd kill myself. I'd kill myself, I couldn't do it, I couldn't go to school, knowing that everybody knew...Andi's stronger than I am. But...I just...I don't know.

How do I tell her how much I ache for her? You can't go up to someone and say, So there's this rumor... I can't. But how do I tell her...and I feel so stupid, my God, I feel...how stupid I was! I cooed over that bracelet...my necklace looks like hers, I'll never be able to wear this necklace again, I'm so ashamed of myself for gushing over how romantic it was that Andi had changed Bruce while he was making her bleed. I want to be here for Andi now, I want to sit with her if she wants to talk, if she wants to not talk...but I don't want to crowd her, shadow her, scare her...these rumors, that I know because of a rumor...

Logan's coming over tonight. I asked the Hirschs if he could, and they didn't care, and we asked his parents, and it took a bit of convincing, but because of what happened to his mother, I suppose they yielded because we found their sensitive button and pushed it: when girls are treated badly. I just want him around tonight. I want to talk. I want to not talk. But...I just want my boyfriend around tonight because...just because. I just want him, and I don't care if that makes me stupid or weak or lame, I want him tonight. Because I'm scared. Because I'm angry at a good friend, and I won't ever tell him why because I can't bear to let him know that I'm not All Better. Because I'll never be perfect enough to make it all go away.

Because all I can do is cry for Andi, and not a single tear makes it better for her. Not a single one.

Only You

2009-01-16T02:38:17Z

Hey baby, it's me. Logan. I hijacked your livejournal--I hope you don't mind, I'm not reading anything, I know this is really, really private to you. But I remember, when you started using this online diary again after--you know, last spring, when you got home, how hard it hurt for you to see the last thing you had written. I bet it's part of your healing process to look at it, but I figured--if instead of seeing that right away, when you're not read? Instead you saw this? It might help.

I just wanted to say that I love you, my Mary Annie, with all of me. Even parts of me that I don't know, the parts that you believe in--my maturity and my potential and my growth, all of that stuff that you believe in. All of the good stuff that you bring out in me and make me a better person. But I love that you love all of my stupid parts and all of that, too. You love me when I'm stupid and when I'm smart and even when I'm all stinky after practice or a game. I love that you come to my home games and always find me and give me the biggest, brightest smiles: my favorite, best cheerleader.

Jesus Christ, do I love you. I love you, Mary Anne, I love everything about you, even when you scold and when you worry so hard I think you're losing calories. I love the way you look when you're studying, just so determined--I love you in a dress, with your legs just like whoa, I love love love love you in my shirts, my jersey? Damn, baby. But I love when you take them off and give them back and they smell like you, and when I put them on, I can smell you on me, and it's like little hugs, you know?

And I love making love to you--and I love just sleeping beside you, holding you. I love cuddling with you, I love tickling you! Even though you hit me to make me stop sometimes, you worm. I love holding your hand and tucking your hair back, I love your neck. Your neck is long and smooth, and I love kissing it. I love kissing you, all of your different kisses, the soft ones that last a second and the long ones that just make me need you that very second. And I love your smile, God! I love your smile! That smile made me fall in love with you on the spot. On the spot. No one else in the world has that smile, nobody else in the world makes me feel like I'm safe and at home when they smile. Nobody, Annie--Annie, I love your smile.

And you know what else? The Annie that wrote that entry from December 30th? I love her, too. I love my brilliant, creative, talented, loving Annie when she's that sad, too. I just love you. And I want you to read this as many times as you need. And when we fight--because we're gonna fight because, it sucks that we do, but we do, so--just know that I love you. You're gonna make it through.

Yours always, your Loesy.

Oh! I titled the journal, just like you like, with a song :)

Burn Your Life Down

2008-12-31T02:15:35Z

To whomever is reading this...

I know you're probably hoping that this last journal entry will give you some clarity, an idea, an explanation. And I don't really know if anything that I write will make this...I don't know if there's anything I can write. I tried to write letters to everyone, but instead, I just hugged everyone extra tight when I gave them their presents. I have everything saved on my computer, all of my notes...I made sure to give Pete a copy of everything I've done for next semester, everything is set.

So all that's left is...

Back when we had the Baby-Sitter's Club, everybody was Somebody. Kristy was the Great Idea Machine, famous for that. Claudia was the genius artist. Stacey was insanely sophisticated; no one in Stoneybrook could compare. Dawn was the California girl with all of these causes that she stood up for. Mallory was the brilliant writer. Jessi was the beautiful ballerina. Abby was the star soccer player, Logan the star athlete. Shannon was a standout in everything.

And I...I never made a mistake in the record book. That was me, my identity. What if I made a mistake? Then that's all I'd be: Mary Anne, Who Was Perfect With the Record Book...except for that one time. What if I slipped up twice...three times...what if I...then that's all they'd remember, since I had nothing else.

All I do is slip lately...and...then all I'll be is...

I never made a mistake in that book. I didn't. Ever. Not once, I still have that book, I was looking at it last night, and I didn't. I was perfect.

I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I'm hurting you. But I just can't do this anymore. It's better, it'll be better when I'm not here.

I love you all, I love you, I'm sorry.

Mary Anne

I Don't Know What It Is

2008-12-10T14:25:47Z

I don't know why I said what I said to Marty. All I want is for everyone to think I'm...I mean, I might as well have just told him that I am anorectic, I suffer from depression...that I'm suicidal, I should have just told him everything, considering what I said.

Dr. Axtell says that it could be that I wanted to show someone in this school who thinks I'm such an angel that I'm not, that I'm actually broken inside. Or maybe I wanted what would happen if I showed that side of me.

But I wonder if...if it wasn't the part in me that wanted Marty Bukowski, Marty who hits, Marty who yells, Marty who judges and is rude and base...that I wanted Marty to punish me for being so broken. That he'd mock me or...maybe a tiny part of me wanted him to tell everyone, then I'd be...and it would force me to try it again because I couldn't...

I haven't been able to eat since. And I don't want to eat today. I was able to hide it in front of Loesy last night at the Rodowskys, thanks to Jackie interrupting dinner about twelve times. Not eating lets me balance this anniversary against how I feel inside, so that I can enjoy it and still...

I told Marty what I cannot tell people, and he was...so decent, and...Loes is so sweet, and...

...and I can't eat.

I'd Rather Be in Love

2008-11-13T14:27:35Z

Alexander kissed me yesterday, and instead of pulling away, I kissed him back, thinking about how easy it would be if I were with him instead of Logan. To be with someone who doesn't know. But then...it's like an itch that lives under my skin: I'm in love. And it's hard to be with someone when the relationship gets this deep and this serious, and with someone as popular as Logan and someone as...broken as me. It's so hard, and yet...

I love him. So I won't let go.

And if I fight for us, why can't I fight for myself.

And that's why I'm writing this on my laptop, at the hospital at Yale. I needed Dr. Axtell to call Dad to tell him that I needed this, just a day or two to have doctors helping me all day long before...I mean, I kissed Alexander back because I wanted to...

I need help. I need now, because this time, I...next time, I might not...but this time I know that I do.

All because of that kiss. I don't know if Loes will forgive me, I don't know if Alexander...I don't know a thing, except...in a way, I'm so glad for that kiss, because it's stopped me before I slid right out of myself.

Some Things Last a Long Time

2008-11-03T21:59:24Z

Miranda's Test Results
Type 1 Perfectionism |||||||||||||||||||| 90%
Type 2 Helpfulness |||||||||||||||||||| 90%
Type 3 Image Focus |||||||||| 34%
Type 4 Hypersensitivity|||||||||||||||||||| 86%
Type 5 Detachment |||||||||||||||| 66%
Type 6 Anxiety |||||||||||||||||| 74%
Type 7 Adventurousness || 10%
Type 8 Aggressiveness |||| 14%
Type 9 Calmness |||||||||| 34%

type score type behavior motivation
1 22 I must be perfect and good to be happy.
2 22 I must be helpful and caring to be happy.
4 21 I must avoid painful feelings to be happy.

...even this test knows, doesn't it, that I'm a mess.

I flipped out on Logan yesterday; I couldn't even stop myself, I was just...I let everything go on him, every little fear. I'm slipping right now, and everybody watches us, everybody because he's Logan Bruno, Mr. Star, Mr. Football Savior, Mr. Awesome. Which isn't fair to him, that everyone treats him like that, but...all of those eyes are on him, and then they hit me. His perfect little girlfriend that makes up a perfect little couple, and...I feel like I'm starting to crack, but nobody can see. Especially him. And I know it's unfair, to push him away, to snap at him when he worries, but...

Why won't this all just go away? Why can't things just stop? Why can't everyone just leave me alone, everybody. Everybody wants something from me: Dad needs me to be his good girl. Sharon needs me to be bright and happy and social so she feels better. Dawn needs me to be healthy so she doesn't worry. All of my clubs need me. Loes needs me...and he also needs me to be this sexy thing that I am not. I thought I could be, but. I'm not. I'm failing.

When did I stop dreaming about who I wanted to become? I wanted to evolve this year. Instead, I'm starting to tread water all over again. I'm tired of always waiting to drown. I feel like I'm one bad rain away from slipping under, and...just when did everything get so complicated that I can barely keep up? But I have to. They need me to. I need me to. I'll figure something out. I will. I'm just so tired of this.

I'm starting to get tired of myself. Of being me. I just want things to be easy, just once. I need an end.

Hope for the Hopeless

2008-10-25T10:21:55Z

And Trevor said I couldn't research this!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foreplay

http://www.askmen.com/dating/love_tip/sextip18.html

http://love.ivillage.com/lnssex/sextechnique/0,,drpatti_7mc3,00.html

http://www.isnare.com/?aid=13078&ca=Sexuality

http://www.20minutestokill.com/features/samantha-sez/2/dating-tips-for-guys

http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/tips/

...okay, I don't think I'm cut out for really good sex. "Wet your lips and moan that you can't wait to taste me"?! Moan?

Is it too late to go back to just snuggling?

So Sorry

2008-09-12T14:37:10Z

I hesitated about telling Dawn about Mallory because of what happened with her and Lewis. These boys and how they use girls...and how girls let themselves be used for so many reasons. If I didn't have the boyfriend that I do, in one of my sad downslopes, in one of my fits of proving my independence, would I have done the same thing? I don't know.

But I do have the boyfriend that I do, a remarkably sweet and generous boy who I know is exercising all of his will to go at the pace that I want, who gives me the space that I need but not too far for when I need his arms to hold me, and my word, I am so high-maintenance, and he says that it's the good kind! I'm spending at least an hour every day with Alexander, and Logan hasn't breathed a sound of jealousy, only asking if I need a ride to the Kurtzmans'. It's ridiculous that I'm mad at him. I'm ridiculous. I talked to Dawn tonight, and I stopped for a moment and thanked God for having the boyfriend that I do, and it's time to suck it up and show him. He's the only one I want, and for goodness sake, Mary Anne Catherine Spier, I hope you come back to this entry whenever you think that Logan's said something stupid. Because he might, because he's human and we all do stupid things, but just remember that taking a short walk and then coming back to talk things out would be much preferable to spending a whole week not speaking to the only guy that you want to be with.

For a future valedictorian (hopefully), Mary Anne, sometimes you can be very human: that is, very, very very stupid!

I Can't Give You Anything but Love

2008-09-01T22:52:38Z

I've been to Alexander's each day, since I found out about his mother. I've had an excuse every time: the funeral, to bring a casserole, to bring some muffins, to bring a basil plant...not flowers, flowers die. A basil plant can grow, fill a room with its sweet sharp smell and grow and grow. And not die. Every day, I knock on their door with my hands full and then I stay for a while with him. Eventually, I'm going to run out of books and blueberry scones and basil plants. Soon, all I'll have is me. But I'll keep coming.

I'm not enough, though, nothing will be. Even if I knew the right thing to say, it wouldn't assuage his pain. It wouldn't mean a thing. Sunny and Anna have asked me how long it lasts, the hurt. Which always makes me hurt, the fact that I'm some soothsayer, the oracle at Delphi for parental death. I told Anna it never does. I told Sunny that there's a hole inside of you that nothing will ever fill. I was basically born with an emptiness; they have had something ripped out. And each time you see something that reminds you of her or of him drops into that empty place like a stone on water: watch the ripples go and radiate to the shore of yourself and renew the jagged edges of what you've lost. I am waiting for it to stop, too.

Alexander seems...I don't know. It's hard to explain, but I told Dr. Reese on Saturday that I'm worried for him in a way that makes me hold my breath. My friend, a good friend, who ate peaches with me on hot Ohio days and can talk about things that are so brilliant that I'm breathless. And now I am breathless again around him. I don't know what comes next for him, I don't know...where he's going to go inside of his grief. But I'm going to be there, every day, for as long as he wants. Hours. Months. Maybe that's why I'll soon run out of things to hold in my hands. Maybe soon my hands need to be empty, because he'll be what I need to hold.

Don't Know When But a Day is Gonna Come

2008-08-04T01:37:20Z

I'm free. I am, I have a whole week without Dad's rules, his eyes, his iron grip. Loes, Bee, Tess...not Angie as much because she has trouble standing up to her father, too...they all say that it's time for me to tell him No. No more braids and jumpers and white tights, no more silence, no more shrinking back: stop seeing me the way your fear sees me. We all guess about what it is that he's so afraid of. I know that after the fire, he was scared of losing me. But how could he give me latitude after I came back from Utah and then overreact weeks later? It was the condom and then catching Loes and I in perceived "indecency" that set him over the edge. But...I don't understand...I don't know. I guess I don't understand my father. We all have rationalized him for nearly two decades. He was so depressed after her mother died...he was so scared about not being a good dad...he did the best he could... We excused the way he treated me. His fear made me live in fear of him. I'm just so tired of having to overthrow the tyrant over and over. When will the king realize on his own how heavy his crown lies?

And yet, I'm really proud of myself. I gained five pounds in Utah, to take me back up to ninety, and since coming home, I've gained two more...and while I haven't gained what I should, I haven't lost. I'm tired of losing myself, now I'm hanging on. I have a psychologist who specializes in eating disorders, Dr. Axtell, that I see twice a week; a nutritionist named Yvette; and I still see Dr. Reese biweekly. Plus there's follow-up care from the Lodge...and of course, I talk to Cam on the phone a few times a week; we're each other's lifeboats. I have a support network that says I don't have to slip away. So I'm fighting, I'm using every coping technique I know, because right now...

...I woke up this morning, about fifteen minutes before my roommate Hannah did, and I opened up the window and looked out over the big courtyard as I brushed my hair, murmuring the Latin verbs I needed for the first test. There were real college students crossing the beautiful quad, and I could hear them laughing as they crossed towards the Student Center. That's my future: I watched them, and I was envious? But I was also energized. That's my future. And I'm not going to slip away: I want that. I want to make it to that. So I'm going to fight those feelings inside of me that say quit, give up, starve. Die.

But...do I fight him, too?

Almost Lover

2008-08-01T03:20:58Z

My boyfriend and I have dated longer than any other couple in our class, I'm so in love with him that I can feel it like it's a part of me, and yet...

...why does it feel like everyone else in the world is having sex except for me?!

Little Room

2008-07-22T02:12:54Z

I can't cry anymore. It's worthless, all of those tears. Wasted water: I remember once, after the fire, when I couldn't cry I overheard Mrs. Thomas whisper about that to Sharon. Mary Anne hasn't cried. Why should I: I shed an ocean of tears before that fire, enough to put out the blaze...all of it, wasted.

I'm tired of crying. It does nothing, not a thing. I'm sitting in my room looking just like I did when I was ten...same size, too. Sharon's tried to talk to Dad, but the fight was so disasterous that I ran downstairs and begged her to stop, just stop. I deserved it, I told her. It was okay. So I sit up here since I'm grounded for the rest of the week: no phone. No TV. I had to get my thoughts down, so I asked my therapist if I could use her computer. This is all I'm allowed out of the house for, therapy and my sitting appointments. So, I sit here and knit and quilt and read and take portrait after portrait of my body, of every bone that stick out, looking like it just begs to break. I've been forcing myself to eat, even though it's the last thing I want to do.

I don't know anymore. All I know is I don't want to cry over what my father has done or how much I miss Logan because just like none of the water I cried could put out that fire or bring back everything I lost, none of the tears I cry now would convince my father that I'm not what he thinks I am...or bring back the boy I love. Nothing. It's hopeless, that's all it is. No point. I just stay here, with my braids, in saddle shoes, in this room that never got the makeover that we started. It's been halted, stopped, right in the middle of its change. Just frozen here, like me, my little room.