fore thought

So Monday night I hung out with Ryan...we watched American Psycho is his basement, which was pretty interesting. We're both movie-talkers, and he needed help texting his girl, so I mostly got the general idea of the film - major points, moods and feelings. I couldn't quote it for you, couldn't give you a play-by-play.

At one point, Patrick Bateman (main character, psycho of america) tortures this hobo. Not like, physically...but mentally. 'You want money, okay...wait, no.' He just....he's so mean. He has this contempt for the poor which I find sickening, and my face was completely contorted. I could tell it was, I knew my mouth was open, that my brows were knit in this sickened shape, but I couldn't help it. Poor people...sometimes, the situation is their fault. Sometimes it's not, though. You can't look at a person and assume you know why they are what they are, or what makes them who they are...you just don't know. And you don't have the right ot assume you know, and you sure as hell don't have the right to treat them poorly because you think you know what makes them tick.

So Ry just looked at me and said "This really isn't a Danielle movie."

Which I guess is true? I mean, yeah, I was pretty upset by that. Nothing else bothered me, really. The chainsaw scene was kind of funny, getting into Patrick's head was fascinating....really, I just like to know what makes people tick. It's so strange, that this movie, with all its killing and cannibalism would bother me not because of the death and torture, but because one hobo got mistreated.

I'm flipping through the book on Amazon. everything is crisply detailed...it's kind of fascinating. I think, when I'm done with The Judges, I may, perchance read American Psycho. We'll see.

return.

So, I really thought Ash was going to kill herself tonight. She's just messed up right now, she texted me to tell me she might do something stupid, and I high-tailed it to her house.

It's been so long since I put up with this kind of drama. And it was okay..I handled it fine, I was worried, I'm still worried, but it's okay. I'm pretty sure she'll be okay. I forgot though, the way someone not eating can make me not want to eat. I am not invincible....why did I think I was? I'm still jealous and angry and scared...sometimes I think I always will be. What is left inside the shell of that furious girl? What have I got that's worth having?

I felt like such a hypocrite. She kept saying she didn't care if she died, and I didn't push her, but I made the 'that's bull shit' face. What about all those nights, though, when I cried for my mom? What about all those times I lifted my hands up, shut my eyes, and waited for the car to crash?

I am not so far beyond her. And if I don't watch myself, if I am not vigilant, I could wind up there again.

you don't.

No, I'm not going to tell you what I'm doing online. It's my computer - I bought it, with MY money. You have no right to know what I do on it, or what websites I go onto.

And so what if I have a facebook? Are you upset that you don't know about it, that I don't share with you, that we aren't "friends"? All my life, you've told me that parents are parents, not friends. Never friends. Why do you want to be my friend, now? So that you can see who else I'm friends with? So that you can moniter my activity, all the time? So that you can search my pictures and my comments and the comments on me, rifle through my life for flaws, any flaws, and tear me to shreds? I'm not stupid. I've watched you do this to Lisa, to all of my cousins. I'm not dumb enough to believe that you wouldn't do it to me.

You are my parent, and I understand that you want to be a part of my life. But I don't owe you that, not anymore. You need to be willing to accept what I will give you...you need to be happy with what I want to share. I told you about Ryan, I tell you what you need to know. When I am ready, I will share. But you...you take such small things, and make them so huge. You take a picture of a friendly peck and turn it into a lover's kiss. You take a song quote and turn it into a declaration. If you cannot understand someone as simple as her....how can I trust that you will ever understand me?

perhaps not.

So...we didn't go to Brad's...we just hung out at the park. We walked up through the park, down 309, down Church road and along South Main until we came through the park again - 4 miles, I think. And we talked. Sometimes it was all me, sometimes it was all him...we told stories, we got to know eachother, and it was nice. He likes a girl, I have a boyfriend, the lines are defined, and right now we're just coloring the insides, determining what, exactly, this friendship will look like to us.

He reminds me of Cassie...when I first met her, she was so cool. She loved bands I'd never heard of and everyone wanted to be around her, and I wanted to be around her. She knows all these amazing people, and yet she wants to hang out with me. At BMA, it was the same with Carly. It seemed like in our group of friends, she was the hub - the one we all had in common, the Great Uniter. It blew my mind that I got to be her best friend, that I was one of those people she wanted to be around. I was so angry and ugly and gross, and still, there was something about me that was good enough for her.

With Ryan, it's kind of the same thing. Everyone likes him, everyone wants a piece. And I'm just this girl, this small girl who struggles with an eating disorder and has to try to make it through each day, a walking disaster constantly on the brink of self-destruction. Somewhere in there, he sees someone he wants to be friends with, someone with something to offer. I am flattered, and I am grateful. Between Carly and Cassie and Ryan's friendship, and then Chad, who for some mysterious reason wants to spend his life with me, I am beginning to think that maybe, perhaps I am not just a trainwreck, a bag of scar tissue and anger. I am someone who other people actually want to be around. I am someone who is worthwhile.

flowers

I'm planting sunflowers and morning glories. I'll buy more in April, when there's no more danger of frost, and I can use my big pots, for outside. Right now, I've got the sunflowers lined up in gatorade cups on the windowsill - one for each of the girls. I'm soaking the morning glory seeds over night, and then I'll do the same with a few of them.

I'm excited. Sometimes, I need something like this to look forward to, something small and out of my control. Those seeds won't pop up for two weeks, but when they do it will be a glorious little miracle. I keep going back over to them to breathe in that deep, earthy smell, to imagine those little seeds so safe and warm, until they open up and push to the surface.

I want a garden. I want my nails fill with dirt, I want to cultivate and grow, to be the lady with the green thumb. I keep thinking about seeds and plants and life, and how wonderful it is to help something grow, to help bring it to the sunlight.

please stop.

Funeral plans and life insurance and what if, what if, what if....it seems so disrespectful, that shell is planning for her death while she's still alive.

It's so hard to escape. I can't sleep, and I can't stop eating, or jiggling...and when I finally, finally stop thinking about it, and move on to another thought, she brings it up, or says something...stop. just stop. I don't want to think about it anymore. I don't want to sit here and worry and cry and twist my hands together....my heart hurts more than you can possibly understand. Have you ever lost a parent? No. no, you haven't. So shut up, and stop acting like I have no right to feel upset. That's the worst thing ever, the worst thing in the world, for you to tell me whether or not my mom is worth mourning, whether or not I loved her deeply. What the fuck do you know about her and me? What the fuck do you know about my feelings, my heart, my love? This is not your life, this is not your problem, this is not your heart, and you have no right to come in and organize my feelings, assuming you know where everything ranks in importance, where everything belongs.

everyone keeps saying it... it's not just me. they're all scared, too.

she's dying, isn't she?

she said that?

My mom is on oxygen....and I'm scared. I'm scared and it sucks and I'm in that place again, that 'should I even bother going?' place, because I'm afraid that something will happen while I'm gone, and she won't make it. And that....I would never forgive myself.


I told alyssa, and you know what she said? She told me that maybe I should cut off contact. Stop getting the newsfeed, if you will.

Really? I hate that she acts like just because we're not close, I can just do that. Can you cut off your leg? Not without seriously impairing youe life. Same here. I can't just check out. She doesn't have much; neither do I. We are messed up and ugly and mismatched, but we need one another. And maybe she's not been what she should have....that doesn't make our relationship any less important, any less meaningful than another mother-daughter relationship. I love her, she loves me. What else matters?