Conflicted

I want to be thin again. I want to be light; I want to be nothing. I really do.

I miss my bones protruding, the smooth, sharp curve of my hipbones contrasting with my lumpy, sagging pants. I miss having my knees being the widest part of my leg. I miss having spindle-y arms. I miss being delicate; I miss being fragile.

I don't miss the constant headache. I don't miss the aching joints, the fatigue. I don't miss binging and purging, or chewing and spitting. I don't miss the dizziness. I don't miss having my hair fall out in clumps. I don't miss the prying questions. I don't miss the screaming. I don't miss the crying.

A worries about me. He told me on Saturday how worried he was about me at the beginning of the school year. He notices my thicker hair, my pinker skin, my brighter eyes. He notices when I don't eat too. And he makes me. He tells me I'm beautiful, even though I don't believe it. He tells me that I'm wonderful, even though I don't believe it.

He notices my struggle with it now, and tries to pull me into safety, even though that isn't where I want to be. He says he doesn't want me to fall back in. I want to dive. But I can't bring myself to make the jump.

Well Hello Fatty

So I tried putting on my favorite pair of shorts from last summer (which were a touch big) this morning.

They wouldn't zip.

Today actually turned out wonderfully

We didn't even go to the mall. Which was nice. I got to meet A's step father today, who's been absentee for the past three months. He took A and I to men's warehouse so A could rent his tux for prom. He's kind of a dick. He's the only member of his family that I don't care for, the rest of them are absolutely wonderful. Especially his mom. She's one of the strongest women that I know, and she's incredibly sweet. We brought A's six-year-old brother along, who's the cutest, loudest most hyperactive thing on this planet. He'd be like, "Margaret? When is A gonna be done getting his tuck-zeedos?" I think he might have stolen a cuff link though. He claims to have found it outside, but I'm not too sure.

I fell asleep curled up with A today, which is kind of an accomplishment, in a sense. After Him, I've never really been at ease with myself enough to fall asleep with my boyfriends, but I guess I'm just really comfortable with A. He woke me up for about a second because his phone rang and he moved to turn it off (I have no recollection of this) and apparently was like, "fuck you bitch, I was comfortable" He thought it was cute.

I ate way too fucking much today, but other than that, today was awesome.

Worry

Going shopping with the boyfriend today. Lately shopping has been a nightmarish thing for me. I've gone almost a size up- nearly a size two. What my mother nor my boyfriend seem to be able to understand is that only a few months ago a size zero was two big, and now I'm having to squeeze in to one. Last time I went shopping, it ended in a crying breakdown in a changing room, a disgruntled Margaret, and a worried mother. I don't want to worry A. I already do that enough. He doesn't need any more shit to worry about. Honestly. Wish me luck.

Busy to a whole new level.

I've been so unbelievably busy this week. I have loads upon loads of make up work to do in my art classes. So much that I can hardly even begin to wrap my head around. ARGH.

Breathe, Margie. Breathe.

Why I Hate Doctors

I went to the doctor today to get my worsening infection checked out. They took a little biopsy of it, tested it, and it's MRSA, just like I thought. But, luckily it's not in my bloodstream, and I caught it right on time, so I don't have to be hospitalized or anything. But that's the good news.

So the biopsy hurt really badly, even though it was just a small piece of skin removed, because the infected skin is incredibly tender. But anyways, once I got the biopsy back, they were like, "Yeah, we're gonna have to remove it." So, I expected them to give me some sort of anesthetic, at least a local one. No. Didn't happen. The woman who did it told me that it was going to feel sort of like getting an ear pierced, which we all know, doesn't really hurt at all. So, you know, I'm lying on the table, and the woman dresses the incision area, and get ready for something that feels like getting my ears pierced, and like a little slice for it to drain out of. WRONG. This woman cuts a freaking half-inch hole in my leg without anesthesia. And this lady is chattering away, while slicing my leg up. She seemed way too happy to be cutting a hole in my leg. Not to mention at this point, I'm like crying my face off, and I'm biting my tongue hard enough to make it bleed, just to keep myself from screaming. Then I passed out right before it was over.

It was awful.

I hate doctors.

For you.

This one's for you, my dear. You know who you are.

I wish that you weren't so far away, because I would come to you, and tell you how wonderful and smart and beautiful you are. And how much I admire you.

I'd reach inside your mind, if I could, and pull out all the monsters. I'd cut a few wires, and tie up some new ones, and I'd show you that you are real.

You are real. You are real. You are real. You are real. You are real.

Even if you don't believe it yourself yet, you will. You have plenty of others out there who are believing it for you.

I hate knowing that you're in pain. You have no idea how much I want to take it all away from you, so you can be happy. So you can be free.

You will be free. I promise.

With all the love in the world,

Margie.