MISSING: Chapter Un-Numbered (II)

MISSING

Chapter Not Yet Numbered (II)

...The greater issue, of course, is that because I know my few inner circle cards, I cannot love myself. There - I've created a game even I cannot beat; I am an incompetent loser at my own game, my own life.

Fatalism, self harm for preservation, destruction of others: I permit my sins because I know everyone else around me hides equal perversions (and they do, because I keep people around me who also house and hide perversion and vice). 

I permit my vices to disseminate; I am vainly in love with the person I have almost actually become. I almost believe that I may become the person I am pretending to be, if I just let this wretched personality exist and infest for a small time more.

I permit my vices to disseminate because I have to be beautiful - because beauty is the only worthwhile end I can actually find a way to achieve.

I permit my vices to disseminate because I am disgusted by my worthless life; external beauty is the only redeeming quality I have.

I wretch to think of the waste that my footprints on this Earth create.

I may very well be the world's most horrible contributor to The Human Footprint (http://wcs.org/humanfootprint/index.html). My contributions are so unimaginably wretched and destructive I deserve a death of stone or fire. 

I am not a witch, but I am a wretch and my society should put an end to me - because I am a harm to them, and a greater harm for their prolonged generations.

********

MISSING: Chapter Un-Numbered

MISSING

Chapter Not Yet Numbered

One late night below many layers of many years of dried vomit, she would somehow take a deep breath and write:

I have few things I keep protected very deeply within me, so I am fine with being more or less open with everything else.

Secret - I do not want to give up those few things for ANYTHING; my guarded secrets comprise my self, my core.

That's the key though - to get me all the way, you have to get me to reveal my sins, my vices, my fatale flaws. Or anyway, somehow you have to come to know them. But I am giving up the game now, so by the end of this story I will come out and tell you.

The reason the femme fatale is how she is - fatale - is this: she keeps a few secrets locked; she appears absolutely flawless; she strategically chooses her few flaws - her fatalities - and indulges in them enough to sustain her perfection (yes, all thing in life have balance - yin and yang). She indulges in secret, so no one knows she is with vice.

I have become to depend on my bestiality. I am horrible and wretched with sin, and my sins grow inside me - more horrible, more wretched, more strong, and more intense. Each day I protect them they grow; I am the portrait of Dorian Gray: my survival depends on my ability to conceal.

If I give up my vices, I will not be able to sustain perfection, but if I revealed my vices, I will be wretched to society, and who but a desperate pathetic, distaff could ever want or love me? Moreover, I could never settle for deficiency or impotency in love.

******

READ IN GROUPS OF WOMEN

Statistics show us that in literature, the books that sell best are those that capitalize on the tendency of women to yearn for bonds of sisterhood. The Devine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood stands as a bold example in history. 

As per the Rebecca Wells’ own account, the book began to take off after it became popular in women’s reading groups. Women would read the book and share their own stories, sprouting their own Sisterhoods of Divine Ya-Ya. Wells is able to tap into one of the most gold and glorious elixirs that the life of a woman has to offer: the bond(s) of sisterhood. Wells sells bonds in sisterhood, what stock would be more worthy to endorse? Herein lies the success of Wells’ book sales.

What about sisterhood do we find so appealing? What about the female youth do we want to buy, or “buy back?” What about the female youth is not present throughout the female life? What about the female adulthood do we despise as women? What about female adulthood do we yearn to break free of? What do we women wither under?

Moreover, what is the essence of a divine sisterhood worth? Wells’ commodification* net’s at $24.95, and according to sales, this is the right price. Explain to me the essence of a divine sisterhood – a fierce and frivolous bond – that can start a fervent craze among women’s book clubs, but that is worth perhaps no more than $24.95.

THAT is MISSING.

 

*Commodify: To turn into or treat as a commodity; to commercialize.

MISSING: Chapter 9

MISSING

Chapter 9: Der Schwer Gefasste Entschluss

 

The vomit. The bending forward. The implosion. The explosion. The vomit. The speckles on the under-rim of the toilet seat. The curly black pubic hair. The girls who fuck strangers with the toilet seat down. The cloud of toilet paper that protects the right hand. The toilet paper that pretends to protect her right hand. The door that pretends to shield the nasty secret. The storekeeper who pretends not to notice the scrawny girl using the bathroom and always continuing to use the bathroom. The co-peers and co-workers and co-others that pretend not to notice or who do not ask and do not care or do not notice. The sister who consumes the scars silently. The mother who angers and the father who fears. The parents who hesitate. The individual who hates herself.

 

***

MISSING: Chapter 8

MISSING

Chapter 8: Wenn Es Muss Sein!

She hates herself. She truly believes that she is unequal to everyone else. She is envious of everyone and everything. She would rather be the hairbrush of one of her classmates than to be herself. This perverse inclination towards self-hate and self-destruction defies almost all of the presumptions above.

If I hate myself than I am not equal to you. If I am not equal to you, then all individuals cannot be equal.

If I am unequal to all others, people will not like me as well as others.

If I am unequal to all others, but make an attempt to appear equal to all others, people will probably like me more than if I made no attempt to hide my inequality.

If I am unequal to all others, I will be inherently unlike, unfamiliar, and unattractive to all others, and people will feel uncomfortable around me.

If I am unequal to all others and unlike all others, then inherently I cannot affirm the self of all others completely. If I am unequal to all others, I can only affirm my self. People may inherently consider me selfish for affirming my self as opposed to their self.

People take offense to selfishness because it proposes that one individual is unequal to all others. People feel more comfortable with equality (see #4).

All people are egocentric. All people are rooted in the unique perspective of being their self. Aha! So if I am different, then by affirming my self I can affirm the part in all individuals that are different from all individuals.

There can be many truths.

What can be true for one person may not be true for another person; this is due to the power of perspective. The null hypothesis here concludes that what can be true for one person – I am unequal to all others – may not be true for another person. 

Herein lies the danger of drifting too far away from the mean perspective on individuality.

Altruism is egocentric and rooted in the perspective that all people are equal and that all people have equal probability of finding any fate. One person has a statistically equal chance of being any one person with any one fate. 

If any given fate that befalls one individual could just as easily befall onto another individual, AND if I believe that I am unequal to others, I may believe that I have a statistical bias for receiving a certain fate. 

If I am unequal to all others I can believe my fate to be unequal to all others'. If I am unequal to all others while all others are equal to everyone else, then I am an outsider. 

If I do not want to be an outsider, than this is unfair that I was born into a life in which despair is my situation. If I do not want to be unequal and yet I am unequal to all others – for better or worse – my situation will be despair.

If altruism is based on the assumption that all individuals are equal, and all individuals have a statistically equal chance of befalling one fate, then I have no reason to be altruistic to anyone but myself if my fate is lesser or worse or unequal to others'. 

In a given situation, I will allow myself to think, “Woe is me. I physically attract doom and ill will. Therefore I am best – and all are best – if I invest all of my efforts into myself only.

And thus one individual closes out all others, believing the own self to be unequal to all other selves. And all other selves are warranted to begrudge the individual who believes the specific individual self to be worthy of salvation from all other selves. 

All other individuals may continue to believe that all individuals are equal, and so all individuals will continue to be equal in 99% of all instances in the universe. Thus our individual who believes him or herself to be unequal of all others commits a fraudulence of universal proportions. 

The individual who believes it’s specific self to be unequal to all other individuals' creates a truth where no truth previously existed. 

The individual creates a truth from a different truth. 

The individual creates a lie. 

The individual is cosmically dishonest. 

The individual is sin, or is the individual misinterpreted?

***

Neuroanatomist Jill Bolte Taylor, Ph.D. writes of a schizophrenic brother, “I [want] to understand why I [can] take my dreams and connect them to reality and make my dreams come true. What [is] different about my brother’s brain such that he [cannot] connect his dreams to a common reality and they instead become delusions?” (My Stroke of Insight: A brain scientist’s personal journey, 2006, Viking Press, New York, NY).

MISSING: Chapter 7

MISSING
Chapter 7: Interlude

The main perspective in this story is based on the following assumptions:

1. People like you better when you meet their expectations
   
2. People like you better when you express agreement with them (even if you inwardly disagree).
   
3. People inherently like you better when you EXPRESS agreement with them, vs. if you agree with them but do not outwardly express your agreement.
   
4. People are attracted to likeness and familiarity. People feel more comfortable when they feel familiar.
   
5. People like you better when you affirm their self, including their opinions, statements, beliefs, fashions, styles, etc.
   
6. All people are egocentric. All people are rooted in the unique perspective of being their self.
   
7. There can be many truths. 
   
8. What can be true for one person may not be true for another person; this is due to the power of perspective.
   
9. The circumstance of one statement negating a second statement does not necessarily make either statement untrue.
   
10. All altruism is egocentric and rooted in the perspective that all people are equal and one person has a statistically equal chance of being any one person with any one fate. If all people are equal and have equal probability of finding any fate, then a fate that befalls on one individual could just as easily befall onto me, statistically. Therefore, I should help other individuals just as I would have them help me if I were the individual in need, in this situation.
    

MISSING: Chapter 6 (III)

MISSING
Chapter 6: Es muss sein (Pt. III)

In fifth grade at her new school the students have a play day at the local community center. The gym and pool areas are reserved for the students. The whole day is a field trip to the community center to swim and play. There are lunches in white paper bags with turkey, ham, or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. There is a snack bar and they can buy Doritos if they bring 65 cents. She has a history of not eating the Cool Ranch Doritos. They used to be her favorite, but her Dad says they have monosodium glutamate in them. He says this can give people headaches, and he must be proud of her for not eating them. She is marvelously disciplined when she insists that she does not eat them, that they give her headaches. She sounds smart when she blames the monosodium glutamate. She can, however, have the Nacho Cheese kind. She read the ingredients list of both flavors of chips in homeroom. The Nacho Cheese kind has monosodium glutamate listed, but it is listed much farther down in the ingredients. “There is a very small amount,” she says; these do not give her headaches.

A bonfire portion of her heart revels in the opportunity to distinguish herself. Another flame ignites at the opportunity to choose between turkey, ham, or peanut butter and jelly. She chooses peanut butter and jelly. Or vegetable. She does not eat turkey or ham. She is proud of this. Her mother does not eat turkey or ham. Or meat. No meat. When she is about 9 her father orders Salmon on a mountain vacation. The area is known for its Salmon, and the father is excited to share this with his daughters. He will connect it to a lesson and take them to the fish hatchery on the drive home. The fish is prepared whole. It is cooked whole, and it is served with the head on. The eyeball, or at least the eye socket is visible. She does not want to eat the fish. The meat is pink and the fish smells funny. It looks scaly and the meat is pink. She does not want to eat the fish. The father in his loving manner encourages her with hints of “you-will-be-a-wimp-if-you-don’t,” and, “make-me-proud,” in his voice. He prepares a bite for her; the little sister dauntingly steps up and tries. “It’s good,” she says, “try it.”

The father prepares another bite. The fish smells. The meat is pink and silver-scaly. The meat is chewy. She runs outside and vomits on the lawn in front of the restaurant. A few vacationers sit in sun chairs and scoff at her production. She wipes her mouth. No one cares. No one comes. She goes back inside and the lodge is warm and scaly. It smells like must and musk and fish. She runs back outside and vomits. She is crying. She walks back inside and no one cares. Her sister tries another bite of fish. The father asks her if she wants another bite. She says she just threw up outside. Nothing happens. The father teases her that she didn’t even try the fish. Her father teases her that she didn’t like the eye. She continues to cry inside.
****

The next week she swears off meat. She is a vegetarian. Her mother tells her at dinner that if she is a vegetarian she cannot have fish sticks. A pause. The mother tells her some vegetarians don’t eat meat, but still eat fish. But she hates fish. Fish is the reason she is a vegetarian. She does not want fish sticks. And like that the benefits outweigh the risks. Everyone asks her, “don’t you miss meat ever?” After a few years she learns to entertain adults: “well once I was really really craving a bacon cheeseburger. It was so bad I swear I actually was looking around my house for change. I was ready to bike all the way to MacDonald’s!” her story ends there because she never did crave a bacon cheeseburger and she never did bike to MacDonald’s. However, this point in the story earns the approval she desires. Delight. She makes a mental note to remember to crave a bacon cheeseburger – or at least a cheeseburger – when she is at home sometime so she can at least look for change to bike to MacDonald’s.
***

She deserves this. She has earned this. Es muss sein! She always chooses the peanut butter and jelly or vegetarian sandwich lunch. A flicker of glee ignites and she subtly separates herself from the rest. “I don’t eat meat. I mean animals are nice, but I just don’t like how it tastes. I get sick when I eat it, because I am so sensitive. I am so special,” she explains happily.

The pool party play day at the community center is on a Thursday. She dreads it all week. Sometimes on Thursday mornings the father drives her to school; this Thursday is one of those mornings. She has privacy in her room during her time to get ready. She cannot get ready. Clothes do not jump out at her when she looks into the closet. She feels sick to her stomach. A grapefruit lump of dread pops up in her throat, and in her stomach, and in her heart. She cannot breathe. She is sick. She is sick! Es muss sein! She cannot go to the pool party play day. She is sick! She is sick! She won’t be missing any school. Her father is kind, and he will believe her since she will not be missing any school. She slumps and weakens her voice. She limps her face. She calls out “Dad” once or twice. The call is long but she yells it in a whisper. She trots downstairs. “Dad. I don’t feel well,” she says, “my stomach really hurts.” She holds her stomach with both hands.

Her forehead is not hot; her hands are not clammy. Most importantly, her eyes still shine in spite of themselves. This is a medical man. She is clearly not sick. The father says, “why don’t you lay don’t for a little bit and maybe you will feel better when it is time to go to school.”

She retreats upstairs and figures the time before she can trot back downstairs. “Dad. I still feel sick,” she says and holds her stomach with both hands. “I think I might throw up.”

“Naw,” he says. His voice is nice. There are hints of “come-on-now-be-honest,” “be-a-good-girl,” “it’s-okay-but-you’re-not-sick, come-on-now,” in his voice. “What’s wrong? Do you have a test? Do you want me to help you study?”

“I won’t even be missing anything,” she says. “We have a field trip at the community center all day,” she says, “so I can’t go to the nurse if I try to go and feel sick.”

“Oh-come-on-now,” he pulls her in. She cries.

“I have armpit hair and the kids will make fun of me,” she says. She is antsy and jumps up and down like she used to do when she had to go to the bathroom really bad.

He offers to teach her how to shave her underarms. She already knows how. Did she shave them this morning? She did. Well what’s the problem? “They’ll still know. No one else has any and they’ll see and make fun of me. Please, please don’t make me go.” Her speech is fast and she is pleading.
***

MISSING: Chapter 6 (II)

MISSING
Chapter 6: Es muss sein (Pt. II)

She develops underarm hair in the first grade! This is documented in her baby book: “Date: September, 1991; Illness: Hormone Development; Comments: FHS (Follicle Stimulating Hormone) = 2 standard deviations above the normal limits, developing secondary sex characteristics early.” She starts shaving her armpits in about second grade; she is always very self-conscious of her underarms. She sees a poster somewhere that always stays in her mind: a pinup, almost, of a swimsuit-clad Baywatch babe. The suit is a red one-piece or a yellow bikini, or maybe there are multiple pinups. The model hugs a long surfboard with one arm. Her underarm on that side is completely exposed. To her first-grade perspective, this is more intimate an exposure than she has ever comprehended. She marvels at the perfection of this model’s clean underarm. Is it airbrushed? She has no hair! She shaves, but she must also have no hair – there is no stubble. She is transfixed. She stares. She has found this secret, a small patch of beauty that is exposed only to her. Only she appreciates this – and she appreciates this beauty more because of its singularity. This model is hers. This clear patch of underarm: to die for.

MISSING: Chapter 6

MISSING
Chapter 6: Es muss sein (pt. I)

Es muss sein!

An observation printed in the school bulletin after an interview: “everyone’s really nice. People will always lend you a dollar or change to get something from the vending machine – they just trust you will pay them back.”

She used to drive to work with her father in the mornings. She had a back room at his office all to herself. She would draw usually, or sometimes watch TV, but if he came back in between patients, he would make her turn it off. By fourth grade he had tutors come for her in the morning. This embarrassed her for 2 reasons: in the adolescent vocabulary, the word “tutor” sounds dangerously similar to the word “toot,” which refers to flatulence. Also, in the adolescent world of sensibility where one shirt costs too much to pay for two, a tutor indicates special needs. A tutor forges the assumption you struggle to keep up with your class work. You are probably dumb, and need extra help. You will probably end up with the special students next year.

This is not the case for the girl without a chance, but she desperately fears her classmates will decide otherwise. She despises the word tutor and fears ridicule. No one else in her fourth grade class has a tutor, no one. A boy at her bus stop is mean; he is a year older, and he bullies kids. He makes fun of her sometimes, but most of the time he is neutral to her because they share a bus stop. He will become relentless if he knows she has a tutor. He will be merciless. He is, after all, a boy.

MISSING: Chapter 5

MISSING
Chapter 5: The Girl Without A Chance

The girl without a chance materialized in 5th grade: scrappy like Di, but not blond. She enters on somewhat even ground. She is nice. She is quiet at first and then stronger, but attracts the attention of one of the more popular new boys. She comes in 5th grade because 5th grade is when The Academy of the holy trinity admits approximately 20 new students, expanding the class size to upwards of 50. She is not pegged as the new girl in any identifiable way. She plays soccer, but not with Anner and Rory and Lexa. She knows Lexa – I hear their parents are members of the same suburban fitness club, along with the Campbells. She knows the class pagliaccio femminile, clown: Paige, from kindergarten. Paige, whose bowl-hair cut lines her as an ally to the boys in games like tag; our pagliaccio has no affinity for romance or affection, but who declines an opportunity to affect a social status, even one’s own? Paige calls the new girl and offers to sit next to her at lunch on the first day of school. She has no malice. She does not manipulate. She has no mal-intent. She introduces the new girl like something she won over the summer.

The girl without a chance starts with one chance: she has the fortune to be paired with Di as her “buddy.” On the first day of school she is dropped off early and timidly finds the principal’s office. She is shuffled into the Old Gym for an assembly. She is shuffled up to a top section of the bleachers where she is seated near others her age. She is handed off to Mrs. Fraanzen who will be her homeroom teacher. Mrs. Fraanzen gestures that the children in this section are her classmates. After a long assembly, the children are herded into a room with green carpet where Mrs. Fraanzen introduces herself. The class will end in a few short minutes, so they will begin tomorrow with introductions. They will copy the instructions written on the board down into their assignment notebooks and when the bell rings they may find their next class.

Thank GOD she decides not to wear the uniform jumper she set out! Such a tragedy would be her fate while – sitting in the commotion of just-minutes-before-the-bell she overhears girls celebrate their freedom from the lower school commandment that prevents girls from wearing pants. A glance around the room reveals a couple of timid smart-looking girls wearing skirts. No jumpers. The girls who look the most confident and comfortable wear pants. Ugly, unflattering, unfashionable pants, she sighs.

Muss es sein?

MISSING: Chapter 4

MISSING
Chapter 4: Es muss sein

Her father is a form of doctor – a dentist – and a good old boy from back in the day. He contributes faithfully to Cretin-Derham Hall and runs with the boys from St. John’s. He remembers coach Griak from the University days. He follows the rules and saves his booty. He invests, and earns his wife.

She is harshly beautiful: Dutch. Thorned exactly like an Irish rose: a tomboy; a father’s favorite; a rebel with access to mother’s cigarettes, all-too-happy to leave a brother and 2 sisters at the home of her parents’ alcoholic fights.

He follows directions well. He admires the father, Abraham. He wants 7 children – at least – right away. She wants to prove herself. She thins to infertility. She changes her mind when she becomes pregnant. Perhaps she resents her belly, that baby. She would pop the bubble if she thought he could bear it. But so it is that she lets herself burst. And so comes forth a girl.

MISSING: Chapter 3

MISSING
Chapter 3: OUT OF HABIT

An observer can easily describe the situation: “oh, unfortunate.”

For her, having the additional burden of being the disadvantaged participant, the situation is unfair in addition to being unfortunate. Tragically unfair. Fate is unfair.

She vomits; kicking and thrashing, imploding into herself and into the toilet, into the sewage. Life is not fair. Life is not fair.

But women have such things as their pride to attend to. Who will admit at youth the most common of quandaries: I am vulnerable, I feel very vulnerable. Who moreover will do so openly and without any blame or fear of exposure: I am vulnerable and exposed. A flower in the wind has only one secret: to conceal its vulnerability to the wind.

What mother can receive such an observation from her delicate darling: “Mother, I am overexposed” – without feeling responsible.

What mother does not feel responsible for her child. What mother is not responsible for her child?

MISSING: Chapter 2

MISSING
Chapter 2: HICCUP

In the social scene at the Academy of the Holy Trinity for Boys and Girls, Diana Silverling is best equipped. Her preparations do not collaborate until high school – arguably the most favorable time for popularity to flower in a given individual. Di is never really ostracized – a rare individual to pass from grade school through adolescence almost completely untouched by that parasite, malevolence, that feeds on most youth.

Di is a “lifer” at the Academy of the Holy Trinity for Boys and Girls. A scrappy blond, she does not come into her beauty – or bust – until she piques high school. However, children are not so transfixed by outward appearances as their elders are. Di has always been nice and plays well with others. Her hair casts her the coveted role of Princess or otherwise heroine. In middle school boys like her. She is not the fierce queen of the middle school playground – who has boobs and an elusive best friend with 2 first names and bigger boobs, and access to cigarettes. However, the fierce queen of the middle school playground is remarkably savvy in social politics; she keeps Di as a secure second-hand. The Queen protects the throne viciously and pulls Di up: Rapunzel. Di does not have to fight for any claim; the work is done for her.

The classmates overthrow the queen and crown Di because she is nice, and because she is already very near to the correct location for a queen to be, at the top of the hill. Mrs. Carol Silverling is glad to play the position through Di. Brush your hair a bit; don’t you see all the boys looking at Di. Di has play dates with the Courtlings, and the Silverlings sit next to the Trentons at church. Carol fabricates a carpool with the principal’s son so she can not drive twice a week. Di is always entrusted into a good family’s care when Mr. and Mrs. Silverling fly to San-Somewhere for a getaway. She tells Di, “hold on. Just hold on.”

Little Anna Campbell does not have blond hair. Her family moves from Belgium when she is four. This small ornament always adorns her. Her mother says, “hello lovey,” and sings, “Anner,” when boys call for her on the telle. Anner knows words like torchlight and lolli. She can win affection by reverting back to “the bubbler” or “the lou.” She carves herself out as a cute young thing. She falls – for a short while in Middle School – when her class schedule aligns her with the second-rate group of girls and boys. She cares too much about others. But Anner plays soccer for the local team; this opens a secret COURSE/MEANS OF ACCESS for Anner. Her father coaches the team and she can set play dates and car pools with the other girls. Mrs. Campbell always bakes crispies for after the game. She keeps Anner’s water bottle cooled with ice. In high school Di joins the soccer team.

Rory Goodchild is a bit too beautiful to completely shine in her surroundings. Beauty can turn a double edge in the delicate game of girlhood. Beauty wins affection with boys, which can increase social standings. In social politics all things matter; which boys call you amorous matters immensely. An element of awareness towards competition also matters. The Queen keeps Rory close. Di keeps Rory close. Anner keeps Rory close. Rory is too beautiful to find her way to the top. She is also too beautiful to fight her way there. Rory stays always an arm’s length away from the top of the hill. Her mother expects her to keep her room tidy, and mow the lawn weekly. Rory barely protests, and almost never contests in public. “Why even bother inviting her over after soccer – she probably has got her laundry still to do.”

Alexia Lamont; Lexa, Di’s confidante. Not so much skimpy as she is lithe: a fashionable trait for any middle school girl. Lexa is good at soccer and her sister is best friends with one of the popular boys’ sisters – this is very fortunate. Lexa is friends with one of the popular boys! She doesn’t even care. She doesn’t need to care. Di chooses Lexa to keep company with her at the top. Mrs. Silverling probably actually inspires the choice – Lexa is a very likely candidate. A perfect means: sleepovers; carpools; “Di should join Lexa’s soccer team!” “Diana, join Lexa’s soccer team!” Mrs. Silverling talks with Anner’s Dad. She volunteers to drive the girls – Rory, Anner, Lexa, and Di to soccer after school. She bakes cookies that vie with Mrs. Campbell’s crispies– the girls are tiring of Mrs. Campbell’s crispies anyway. Mrs. Campbell would step down, if not for Anner’s continual prompting.
***
Many years later, a mother recognizes that all of the girls must have suffered at least a small wound of envy, for wanting to be Di, or for wanting to have Di & Lexa.
How many girls have this story; Diana Silverling does not because her father is an alcoholic. Lexa knows because Di needs someone to tell her emotional processing-s to. She needs to elect someone eligible for vacation trips where he might come home drunk. Mrs. Campbell and Mrs. Goodchild probably don’t want their daughters to know anyway. Neither princess has the capacity to help manage such a twist.
Circumstances pair Anner and Rory together after Di pulls Lexa up to the top of the hill.

MISSING: Chapter 1

TITLE: MISSING
Dedication: For Katie, if you ever want to know.

Chapter 1: Der schwer gefasste Entschluss – the difficult resolution

Muss es sein? Es muss sein! Es muss sein! * >>see asterisk below<<<

She careens over the public toilet and explodes. Loads of vomit flood from her mouth. Her brain – armed with monotonous familiarity – seems disconnected for a time. She does not look at the vomit, or at the blotted stains on the underside of the toilet seat that can only be dried urine. This is a public restroom that provides rest to both sexes. The dark-colored pubic hair that curls at the rim of the toilet bowl is likely from a male. She wonders for a second at the crudity of such a public intimacy. How many others have used this room for their own respite? How many others have stowed away in this bathroom to shoot up or to steal an indiscreet cigarette? How many girls have sat on this toilet – with the seat down – and fucked a stranger? The public bathroom is a stowaway for stale transgressions of intimacy.

*Muss es sein? Es muss sein!" alludes to the Der schwer gefasste entschluss (the "difficult resolution) of the last movement of Beethoven's last quartet, which is based on the following two motifs "Muss es sein? Es muss sein! Ess muss sein!" In German this translates to "Must it be? It must be! It must be!"
****
Sometimes her vomit speckles the rim of the toilet seat. She cringes and violently grabs large wads of toilet paper to cloud around her hand before swiping around the under-rim of the toilet bowl. Disparity. She knows in one small flicker of her heart that this is too unsanitary to comprehend. Another flicker she calls common sense tells her this comes with the territory. She deserves this. She has earned this. Es muss sein!
***
A common childhood approximation for naming works of writing postulates that a title should: identify a main character who is introduced within the first 2 chapters; identify an object that has metaphorical significance to the plot; or identify a theme that is contributory to the plot. This was a very long – almost run-on – sentence. However, most works are generally allotted one handful of long, run-on sentences to sprinkle throughout a story IN ORDER to meet one of two criteria: to present a large amount of interconnected material in a way that connects the material; or to guise at vernacular.

This title – “Missing” – aims to defy the stipulates of childhood grammar. The title is ferociously rebellious. Following the above introduced approximation for naming works of writing, one may assume this story will identify the plot of a missing child. This is not the case. Nor does this story indicate the importance of any animate object or theme that is “missing” from the plot. However, this title is not so rebellious as it aims to be. This title is neither perverse nor progressive. And so we begin this story's tale.

Something to Try: Liberation

May 2008: I closed my eyes and stepped in the direction of recovery.

My mother was motherly; my father approved. My big-brother cousin told me I was beautiful; he was sorry he hadn’t noticed on his own.

I expected these reactions; these people knew. They shared a passenger seat in my waiting game.

Friends were my true arbiters. Friends didn’t know formally. They subscribed to my “MeCast” to varying degrees. They admired me and didn’t know Me at all.

Also, my friends were mostly superficial; I’d chosen this on purpose.

I told my boyfriend over the phone. We hadn’t been dating long but I really liked him.

“I have an eating disorder I’ve had for 9 years. I decided to move back to Minnesota to get treatment.

“…Also, I quit my job, but really I was asked to resign, for a totally separate reason. Also, I have Herpes. It’s not the venereal kind – it’s the cold sore kind, so I get cold sores on my mouth sometimes… wanted you to know… sorry.”

I had no other way to close myself into myself. I waited.

“That’s okay,” he said, “I get cold sores too.”

Seriously? What the fuck? I was taken aback.

“I wish there was something I could do,” he said. “I still want to see you or be involved in your life, if that’s okay.”

Seriously! What the fuck? Of course it is!

Profanities came first when I hung up the phone. I felt so totally in awe, and so relieved: post-orgasmic.

Two weeks of inpatient, one month of partial, two weeks of IOP, and 3 months of weekly and bimonthly checkups later, I was embarking on a new relationship.

The best way to handle a white elephant in the room is to introduce it, so I sent an e-mail.

A Facebook message, actually: “I don't really know what you're thinking about the situation [us, dating]. One thing I think you should know though … is that I had an eating disorder for 9 years prior to moving back to MN in May. Actually, that was one of my main motivators to resign and move back to MN …

“Things are going well now, but after 9 years, I liken my eating disorder to an addiction (similar to alcoholism), and I am beginning to recognize that some parts of it will probably never go completely away. That said, the past 6 months have also been difficult at times, but overall they have been very freeing. My decision to begin treatment is the best decision I have made for myself in a very long time, which is why I can be relatively open with talking about it.” http://www.facebook.com/inbox/readmessage.php?t=1049673918548&mbox_pos=20&h=52903663 (Facebook link).

His response (I don’t have saved) was something like: “hey. I got your message. That is very sweet of you to tell me, but it does not change how I feel about you at all.”

The lesson I’m learning: my eating disorder is a part of me, but it does not define me. Nor does it impair or worsen me.

When I share my eating disorder and my struggles with others whose acceptance I value, I find that I gain more acceptances in return, out of respect for my honesty.

By showing vulnerability to others, I extend a very liberating and human part of myself. By accepting my vulnerability, others offer back the same liberation.

A smile or a hug or a handshake or an e-mail generally says, “We’ve all been down a road like that. We just don’t always tell about it. Thanks.”

Try it; what do you have to lose?

Eating Disorders are Tough Shit! Did you know?

A friend from high school contacted me a while back; she noticed we had many friends in common from EDI. She shared with me that she was in treatment for an Eating Disorder.

She was cautious to approach the subject; if our mutual friends were a coincidence, I suppose this would create an awkward situation for her. What if I did not want to share my treatment experience with her, and did not respond?

I was actually very thankful to receive her story of treatment. I was reminded how sadly common eating disorders are.

I was reminded that I should not feel guilty for struggling with my eating disorder; Eating Disorders are tough shit!

Eating disorders are shrouded in isolation and secrecy; this is obviously harmful to an individual who is trying to hide an eating disorder; this is also harmful for others who struggle with eating disorders and who think they are alone and abnormal in their struggles.

EXAMPLE: When I was younger, I had an abscess on the bottom of my left foot. An abscess is a collection of pus that has accumulated in a cavity formed by the tissue on the basis of an infectious process or other foreign materials. Mine was from stepping on a nail. GROSS, right?!

When I walked I would further infect the abscess and it would drain. It smelled. Pretty gross, right, but what could I do? I had not chosen to step on a nail. I never chose for my foot to become infected. The abscess caused me to limp, and I had to take 2 weeks off from soccer; I missed my team's state meet. 

My abscess was gross, and it was grossly mentionable; however, it did not define me. To this day, my abscess does not define me. I don't even tell many people about it anymore because it no longer exists on my foot. It is so far in the past that it hardly relates.

Vomiting is grossly mentionable. It would be awkward to embark on a serious relationship with someone and not mention, "oh, but the way, I have a sickness where I vomit after every time I eat." Yuck - that's Gross! But vomiting does not define an eating disorder.

One might share something more definitive: "I am struggling right now with insecurities and obsessive thoughts. I have difficulty managing stress in my life." Who doesn't?

My boyfriend is not able to tolerate stress very well - he becomes crabby and isolates himself when he feels stressed out about work. He sometimes loses sleep over stress, and exercises less as a result. This is an unhealthy tolerance - it is also totally normal! Stress is tiring and difficult to tolerate.

As I become more mature, I care less about others' judgements. When I share a truth about myself - no matter how awkward or different my self-truth may be - most people admire me for my honesty.

Half-truths are a killer; I have a friend with an eating disorder who feels comfortable telling some close friends and family members that she has an eating disorder. However, she does not feel comfortable sharing with anyone the difficulty of her struggle. She does not feel comfortable sharing with others that she is struggling through something difficulty.

Why? More power to the individual who has something in life that is difficult to manage, and who continues to struggle to manage it nonetheless! Gumption! 

Would you judge me if I told you my abscess was very painful? Of course it was!

Perhaps if we - who struggle with eating disorders - were more vocal in our struggles, others would better understand them. Perhaps we would feel more comfortable sharing with people up-front, 

"I have an eating disorder; it is as dirty as chewing tobacco, and as difficult as any physical impairment. You cannot see my eating disorder, so you may often forget that I have it, but it is something that I will always battle.

"Fighting an eating disorder entails a difficult struggle, and it is one that I have to fight for myself. There is little you can do to help me fight my own eating disorder. However, you can help me raise awareness of eating disorders at large.

"Don't judge; eating disorders are tough, tough shit!"