I Stand Here Waiting. To Disappear Or

Once Upon A Time . . . What Time Are We Upon And Where Do I Belong?

Sometimes She Wore Levi's With White-suede Fringe Sewn Down The Legs And A Feathered Indian Headdress, Sometimes Old Fifties' Taffeta Dresses Covered With Poetry Written In Glitter, Or Dresses Made Of Kids' Sheets Printed With Pink Piglets Or Disney Characters.

I Will Not Eat Cakes Or Cookies Or Food. I Will Be Thin, Thin, Pure. I Will Be Pure And Empty. Weight Dropping Off. Ninety-nine... Ninety-five... Ninety-two... Ninety. Just One More To Eighty-nine. Where Does It Go? Where In The Universe Does It Go?

I Think Depression Creates In Me An Urgent Need To Write, But I Also Believe That Daily Stress, And Even The Positive Stress Of Intense Happiness, Can Compel Me To Express Myself Through The Written Word.

I Dreamed Of Being A Part Of The Stories—even Terrifying One, Even Horror Stories—because At Least The Girls In Stories Were Alive Before They Died.