love is all there is...

Fictional Girl
2:17 p.m. || 2003-01-16
This morning I snuggled deep inside two layers of clothing to hide the fat that has taken my body hostage over night. I ate. I ate and I digested it. Lots of food.. a fat free chocolate muffin, slice of pizza, and a bowl of cereal. For me this is alot to digest. I can not believe I allowed the foul stuff to stay in my body. I attempted to purge myself of some of it, and managed to rid my poor body of approximately half. There after I was stricken by a panic, panic that she would hear me, or that Peter would hear me and tell her.

Peter yelled at me the other day. Yelled at me because he made a mistake on my computer (which I hate, have I mentioned?) and sent my perfectly set up windows into disarray. I leaned over to fix his mistakes and he shouted...at me...over my own items, in my own space.

But I digress. I want to talk about something hideous...the thought of walking near people, bumping into people.. makes me ill. How can I touch them? They who allow food to stay in their bodies. How can I touch any of them? I ponder this very thing every time I approach another human being. They are dirty. Dirty, dirty, dirty. They allow that hideous matter into their beings, and allow it to decay, to incorporate them. I believe I shall never touch another human being again so long as I live, at least not those who gorge themselves with fat and sin.

I am a dreadful person for feeling like this. I feel as if I should explain, apologize. Because, you see, I love people. Nearly as much as I detest them and their oily, tainted bodies. Lonesome as I am, and here I sit preaching about the faults of others. Making excuses to keep people away, out of my little box. Out of my space. Out of my mind, my day, myself. Away from me. Far far away. Alas, I do long for the company of someone who understands me, who can make me laugh. Who I can understand, and make laugh as well. Yet I do not want to be touched, or approached, or even engaged in simple conversation. It is rather a paradox of a sort.

Perhaps I should explain a bit more clearly how I feel about other human beings. I do not want any of my readers to think that I detest them. I care. I care alot. Too much, I think, about others. Not enough about myself. I do not care to dwell on my own problems, lest they swallow me whole. At the same time, I am selfish. I talk mostly about myself, my feelings, what bothers me. I am confused by myself, and my feelings about human contact and social interaction. I am distraught about how to make it clear that I care, while trying to convey the fact that I care about nothing all at the same time. Well perhaps you understand, dear readers. Sadly I care not to linger on this topic any longer. I am beginning to become perturbed by my ownself.

School was rather monotonous this morning. Everyone was dressed in warm and identical outfits, only varying in color and perhaps size. To my eyes, however, the other students all appear the same. I search the hordes of students for anyone like myself, someone who looks to me to be different. Someone who doesn't try so hard to conform, or to be different. Dark circles, chewed cuticles. Baggy sweatshirt to hide the hideous rolls of fat. Yet I see no one. For a while my eyes linger on various other females in my classes. I wonder what I would look like with her hair, or that outfit. Eventually they all blur into grey copies and fade out of existance for me. I do not care about these other females, I decided. I will be thinner than they. Thinner thinner thinner. It echoes in my head like a cry in a canyon. Thinner, 1 2 3 4, thinner, 1 2 3 4...The teachers lecture has escaped me, though it was only moments ago that I was in class, twisting my ring, chewing my nails...struggling to absorb the tidbits of information strewn about the room on Memory. Memory. Memory. I am certain there is an echo in my head. It has been rather distracting. Nevertheless, I must discover a way to pay attention with or without the strange echo in my head. I must get "A's" in my classes, and for that I must learn to concentrate. An "A." Nothing less will suffice. Somehow I must attain perfection, or at least some semblence of it.

It struck me today that I do not know if I am a woman or a girl. What exactly defines each? Which would I rather be? Neither, I think. Just invisible. But not that, either. Maybe a girl. Just a simple girl... But not real. Fictional, like a tragic character in some fantastic novel, some icon of a time past or future, or of an era that never existed... Yes. Certainly not a woman, with so many silly responsibilities and chores. I do not want more bills to pay, a husband to fuck, children to fret over, PTA meetings to attend to, grocery shopping to fight with, floor scrubbing to slave over...Picture me a fictional girl. That would be ideal for me. Sadly, I am stuck somewhere in between everything and nothing, woman and girl...real and false.

It appears as though it is going to snow this evening. Snow, or sleet. Perhaps I shall sit in the window, watching the snow (if it should come) with a cup of cocoa and watch heavy, perfectly white flakes drift and simmer into the dead, night blackened grass. Maybe I can float away, like an angel. Lose myself. Be free.

Alas I am talking nonsense. About the snow: If it does snow, I will be delighted. As I am sure many have noticed, I have a love affair with winter and fall. It would be the highlight of my season to see snow in the south this winter.

Farewell wicked world. I shall return on the morrow.

(Oh so dramatic lately, aren't I? If only I felt so dreamy as I, occasionally, write myself to be. Perhaps I am...)



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