Jul. 31, 2002 - 9:36 a.m.
Someone Else

Be warned:

This is another sad day entry. I am sure I promised not to whine, but I don't think this is whining...if you don't want to read this, wait till later today when I feel better and write something else, or read the past entries for a little nostalgia for the happy days.

I am having stomache problems. I feel very sick, like I am going to vomit. I have woken up at 4 am two nights in a row now, feeling like I am going to vomit and I've had to deep breathe and relax until it passes, and then try to go back to sleep. I think it's psychological rather than medical. I also spent a good hour before falling asleep wishing I was someone else. I usually believe that I am quite pretty, beautiful in a classic, period sort of way. And then there are nights like the last one where I have this overwhelming, smothering wish to be someone else.

It's most likely feuled by a little bitterness and jealousy that I wasn't born with a tall lean body and an electric smile. I watched Vanilla Sky last night and was anguished by the sheer delight of Penelope Cruz's face and presence. There's a vulnerability and sweetness in her tiny face and body that I will never have. I clodhop through life.

I often applaud myself for being strong and powerful, and being able to lift heavy things. I like that I have a strong and fairly commanding presence when I exercise it. But last night it all but killed me wishing to be small, weak and vulnerable. To have people drawn to me and want to take care of me, instead of wanting me to take care of them, which is invariably what I do.

I want to have a tiny face and owl eyes and round full pouty lips and a tiny 14 year old boy's body with upturned beesting teenager breasts (which I never had, I went from being flat and 8 years old to wearing a C-cup). I want to weight 95 pounds even though I eat like a maniac.

I want to be small enough to be picked up and tossed around. I want to have a high sweet voice, not like my own mannish low and semi-loud one. I want freckles. I want that thick crazy curly red hair that my Irish friend Marie has. It's such a deep dark red and so thick and curly. It's stunning. Of course she hates it.

Here's something I wouldn't change. My hands. I think they are perfect the way they are. The nails could be nicer, but that's not a big deal. I should just stop chewing them. But my fingers are tiny and slim, and my palms and the backs of my hands are soft. Not bony, but you can see the ridges and valleys where the bones and veins are.

Enough, you get the point. I could go on for days on all the things that I am not. The real challenge is to learn to go on for days about all the wonderful things that I am. But you already know what they are...don't you?

she started to fall, and i knew she would never come back


"I want to.....I want to be someone else or I'll explode"

old bitching - random - new bitching

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