"I'm Ripe With Things to Say, The Words Rot and Fall Away"
<< 9:04 p.m. - Tuesday, May. 06, 2003 >>

I feel bad for being happy when others are struggling. It�s as if we�re all treading water, and suddenly I�m getting sufficient air by pushing others down. (Megan and Jula know what I mean). Or is this an underlying balance? Am I trading my depression for someone�s love of life? That�s not fair. I don�t feel I deserve it. I read entries of others that sound too much like mine and I feel angry. Angry that they have to travel the same dark and disappointing road I have been on. Angry that I am powerless to help. You have to find your own way out. There is no quick fix. I�m sorry.

This swimming thing is clearing my lungs and forcing me to wear a bathing suit in public. I hate the mirrors. I hate them! Watch myself slink around with tiny head and rounded body. Such agony equaled only in Bikram yoga while I watch myself mass quantities of sweat drip off my face.

While school is coming to a close, I want to prolong the time as long as I can. Want to save my grades and keep my craving for sight of the boy to a minimum. My Ode to Boy cannot start without the words of Jenny: �I like the idea of boys; their bodies, their attitudes, their voices, their backs and necks, and being taller than me.�