i am honestly on the verge of tears.

i'm so disgusted with myself that it's way past anything else i've felt lately on this subject. because i STILL find myself sitting silently at parties, successfully avoiding any and all food, occupying my hands with books or cameras or thick black eyeliner pencils used to jaggedly outline my best qualities. and i still get that small spike of satisfaction when i think to myself 'hey, i haven't eaten in twentyfour hours.'

but mostly it's that anxious feeling i just got five minutes ago. as soon as i saw the words 'you are so invited', an invisible hand snaked its way around my heart and squeezed, squeezed till blood seeped outwards and muscles tensed, narrowing the space available for air transmission to my lungs. anxiety, rearing its ugly head, had once again come to pass. i couldn't figure out why. if anything, elation should have paid a visit, i thought.

and then i realized what was wrong. the word 'beach', and all the realities that accompany it. today i'd started cleaning out my dresser drawers like i do every summer, to get rid of old clothes, and in my top dresser drawer i came across my bathing suits. i sat there with the cold, smooth material clutched between my fingertips for several minutes, contemplating. first, holding and remembering the two one-pieces i used to wear to camp in middle school, chiming in when others complained about not being allowed to wear two-pieces but secretly rejoicing in the tiny bit of comfort less exposure allowed me. i still didn't go into the pool, though. usually i'd sit on my towel and read a book in the shade, or play cards with april, who also didn't like to be seen in a suit. or use the bit of pocket money i might have had that week to buy us some nachos. you know. being the fatties of the grade is the cool fucking thing, so why not live up to it.

deeper in the drawer were the two pieces of my blue flowered bathing suit that i wore in eighth grade on the hershey park trip. i remember holding that skimpy towel around myself before even going anywhere near danny hall. i remember not letting anyone see me without a shirt over it, even in the water. even in the fucking water.

sure, everyone's a little shy in middle school, maybe. but i haven't bought a bathing suit since those three, aside from the bikini top i sometimes use as a bra, and always underneath at least 2 layers of clothing. and i haven't worn a bathing suit in years. i dread summer and its inevitable pool party invitations and afternoons of swimming. i've successfully avoided such things because i just.. oh, you can't even imagine what i'm feeling right now. even looking at a bathing suit puts such shame into my head that i can't bear it at all. i hate myself. deeply, penetratingly, it's this itch that i just want to scratch and i can't, i'm like a snake who can't seem to shed its skin. i'm picturing myself going to the beach this summer and i'm cringing as the camera eye of my mind zooms into my thighs, my midsection, my anything. i feel like exploding; at least that way i wouldnt have to deal with this feeling. but i cant avoid it. i have to face up to it.. and i have no idea how. this is cognitive dissonance at its worst. really, really wanting something, and being so completely scared of it that it makes me question my want.

please, i just want to be fixed.

past future

last five entries:
blisters and bruises - 03.18.08
dorsey - 03.13.07
finding peace - 02.02.07
unintentional clean slate - 09.11.06
natural born cyborg - 06.23.06