Nov. 20th, 2010

abigailnicole: (bad day)

I prefer to say "sextuple-you" rather than "double-you, double-you, double-you"

Hunger gnaws at my attention span all through my American Literature class. These are the three hours a week when I sit in class and fantasize about going to the zoo, have vivid flashbacks to things I was told at parties among lectures of literature about workers on strike.

I remember, very distinctly, the first time I realized I could make myself thinner by not eating. I was standing on the Newcomb quad with Evian and Erik in the dark, wearing a purple t-shirt, and Erik poked me in the stomach and made some comment about how hard it was, told me that my long, thin belly button looked like an arch.

I lost weight. I grew enamoured with the long ridges of my pelvic bone, the exposed superior illiac crests, the weird contours of my torso from my ribcage to my hips, the space along my stomach where no bones were. I would sit in class and run my fingers along my collar bones and shoulderblades, exploring the hard surfaces within my own skin. I felt my breasts were too large, getting in the way of my ribcage. I became obsessed with stretching into myself, feeling my body in space, pressing my forehead to my shins.

Is this a body image problem or is it just being a woman in America?

I did not get better. This is where I am right now

I couldn't focus on molecular biology. The ends of my hair, lying on the words in my textbook, fascinated me. I imagined the molecules coming together, becoming amino acids, becoming proteins, spontaneously polymerizing into these long dead strands that fall across my shoulders.

It was monday and it rained all day. I rode my bike home after lab, my hair getting wet and splintering up, the wind stinging into my eyes.

last night I didn't do homework. instead I laid on my bed staring into space, listening to music like it was a tangible thing that covered my skin until I fell asleep with the lights still on.

The shower had no hot water. I stepped out onto the rug to shiver in a towel. I shouted at the shower "I hate you! I hate all of the things that make you up! I loathe your constituent parts!" but I couldn't stop laughing.

my american literature teacher: "Teddy has learned that life is a series of violent dichotomies"

I never woke up. I slept for three years until my youth was wasted away and when I woke up I had to be responsible. I poured out the bottle of bourbon next to my bed and donned that business casual attire and conservative earrings I walked into the streets and none of my friends knew me. I didn't realize for months that the city was underwater and this was still the same dream.

I woke up at 7am with the light spilling over my eyelids

I fought with my best friend.

"Is all the counsel that we two have shared,
The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent,
When we have chid the hasty-footed time
For parting us,--O, is it all forgot?"

I dreamed that my dad died, that I was kissing a boy I thought I liked and we had no chemistry, that our empty house stuck out into the narrow street, that I was getting a key made in the grocery store when I finally broke down. I woke myself at 7am crying

This the week before Thanksgiving I felt guilt at every extra snack. I woke early every single day to my winter playlist. I listened to the Radical Face CD until we could both breathe again. I had a bad day and watched dream-mazes on the couch. I put up pictures. I dressed to impress and failed. Our hot water went out three times. I laid between my teal sheets like an aquarium and wondered
who am I doing this for? who is on the other side of the glass?

it's you.


abigailnicole: (Default)

March 2013


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