My Favourite Place to Be

Is it weird that my favourite place to be is on the 12th floor of the hospital?

This picture is from Wednesday, February 20th 2008. I was happy, so happy when I came in that we took a picture, so I could remember it for later. This is Room 3, in the Galaxy 12 Child and Adolescent Clinic, on the 12th level of Centenary Hospital. This is my safe place.

I have been visiting that room for nearly four years now. I have counted all the stars on the wall, climbed onto the window ledge when no one was looking, climbed onto the window ledge during sessions, cried on that couch, came out to my workers, was examined before being admitted to hospital, lost hope in my parents... I know that about 45cm from the floor there is a crack on the left side of the door, there's a dent in the tile third from the north wall, and the third star on the west wall is fading away.

In that room I am free to be and say what I need to without censoring myself or adjusting the story. It is the only place I can be strong and lost and vulnerable and powerful and people will not think less of me. So, for 30 minutes to an hour and a half a week I have somewhere I can be.

Maybe it's not so weird.

The Latest Dress

I'll update this with a picture of my practice version.

I'm making a new dress! I love off-the-shoulder dresses, but I'm not quite sure if I can pull it off.

It all started Friday, the PA Day. I was going to go downtown, look at dresses, grab a copy of The Advocate. But then I stuck my hand out the front door and decided I didn't want to be an icicle. I saw this amazing dress, really simple lines, and I decided I wanted to try to make it.

I started drawing it out and sketching out how the pattern might work. But it was way too complicated to figure out on paper, so I made a dress form. You know duct tape dress forms? You put on an old shirt and wrap yourself in tape, then cut it off and stuff it? It was a lot less painful than I thought, although it was hard to keep from squishing my breasts down. (Thus ruining the shape AND making it really hard to breathe.) That helped a lot, because I could just pin, re-pin, and cut to make out the pattern. I even practiced doing darts! I'm really excited about this dress, I just need fabric.

How will they ever stop us?

I'm talking to Val right now about this, and I still don't know the answer.

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Kids do a lot of harm to themselves. We smoke, and cut, and binge, and purge, and diet, and try to end our lives.

And sometimes, when I'm looking around at the other teens assembled on the 12th floor of Centenary Hospital, I wonder how the doctors will ever stop us. We who are so determined to destroy our bodies and our lives, who think this is the only way we can be okay.

This is it! Nothing makes me feel as good as this! You will never take this away from me! And parts of us know that we are doing things that make us outcasts and lunatics, but that isn't worth being fat, or sad, or sober.

What do we gain from this, our slow raze to stay alive? Waging war on the demons that haunt us by finishing their work ourselves? They will never stop us, because as long as we need to be dodging our secrets, we will keep up creating our own to stave them away.

My God This Site Is Awesome

You guys are awesome. Well, some of you. The rest of you suck.

Really? Because in about 10 years, I'm going to need some genetically-perfect sperm. People with mental illness or shortness need not apply.


God, I'm such a virgin. And that sexual side effect sucks. Even if I'm like, a nun.


Yea, I walked around with my shirt tied up like it was the 90's and I had abs.

I hope no one finds this offensive. Oh, what the hell, they're ALL offensive. Does anyone else wish there was a Gr 12 World Religions course?

Yea, it sucks that kilts aren't that absorbent or they wouldn't be quite so sweaty.

I chose this just because it's so funny. Like, "You made me screwed up so now I'm in therapy!" It's funny! It is!

This is definitely me.


I wouldn't, actually. Klonopin feels like a TRUCK hitting you in the chest.


This is for all you people who wonder why I wake up early just to shine a fucking light in my eyes.

I Guess it Goes Both Ways

I am so, so hating Zoloft. Has anyone else thrown up 3 times in the last 40 minutes? Anyone? I know no one reads this so you know I'm asking you God! Hey, God! HAVE YOU THROWN UP THREE TIMES IN THE LAST...okay, fine, i get it. Sometimes it is so annoying talking to an all-knowing being.

I'm pretty sure this throwing up is different from anxiety-throwing-up, because other than feeling like a sasquatch I've had an okay day. I can't even fit into my sweat pants. I did also realize that once again I'm too tense to write, because every time my ink skips my muscles clench. Or my bones, it feels like my bones are clenching. (Shut up, I know that isn't physiologically possible.)

Anyways, as much as I really really hate this drug, I am losing weight. Kind of. On November 27th I weighed 94 pounds. After Christmas I weighed 115, now I weight 100, and since I'm throwing up again I'll probably lose some more weight. Which makes me feel like less of a sasquatch. More of a...water buffalo.

Not that I'm actively trying to lose weight, I just told Pau that she and Christine could come over tomorrow and we'd get a large pizza and I'd eat 3/4 of it. And I would, totally I would. Which isn't something to be proud of, because I fucking binge a lot. I have the worst eating habits of anyone I know. I'm trying to change! Slowly.

What I'm really trying to say is, I'm scared of a lot of things but I can't write them down so I'm typing out a very sarcastic blog.

Subtleties of Loving Me

Everyday I understand things a little bit better. I can see all the tiny nuances in the things that you say, the way you don't even have to justify all the words and promises you make to me. Today I learned then when you say, "I love you" it doesn't also mean, "I will be there for you." I learned that you have your limits, and though they fall much too short for me it is not a choice that you have made.

Today I learned that even knowing that, I can't bring myself to forgive you.

All I Want From You

A Letter.

All I want from you is something I know you can't give me. And every time you give me hope it's almost cruel, because I believe - even for a just a second - that maybe you will change and understand me, and this.

I can't do that.

I can't let myself think that things could be okay because soon enough you turn around and it hurts that much more when you reaffirm that I can never rely on you. You are genuine, you really and truly believe that you are doing everything right, supporting me in every way. You are trying not to lose me, which I can hardly comprehend because I want nothing more than to lose myself, but that's not enough. Please, don't try to salvage this.

What do I want from you?

I want you to let me go, so I can be whomever I need to be without you. Sticking around only hurts us both.