proud mary, keep on burnin' ->
02/24/04|11:24 p.m.

I fell asleep last night after listening to "Scarlet Stories" in the dark. I went to bed earlier than I deem healthy (as going to bed not long after eight is usually a sign of depression and destructive feelings brewing nastiness inside) and listened to Tori speak, which felt nice, and even relevant at times. Mmm. Occasionally, I realized that when I fell asleep, I would wake up, and it would be my birthday, which I would have paid good money to undo that. Friday, when I saw the doctor, I thought about everything that was coming up within the week and felt frozen, eyes wide in anticipation of a series of wrecking balls approaching my face. Today felt like a wrecking ball, last night. Today - it hasn't been so bad. I'm always sorry on days of celebration when I can't simply celebrate; I would like today to have been as purely good as possible, which I suppose it was ... I would like more good to have been possible today. But I did alright. I got all sorts of love from all sorts of people, and I only broke down in tears once, but I needed to when I did. Sara called this morning to say she was on her way to be admitted to a residential facility here. In the city. With me. The prospect of seeing her again makes me float. The concept of her sickness makes me crack. And the longing to have the support I imagine her having, support of the Rogers-sort, leaves me alternately brutalized and numb. I don't want what it takes to have what she has. I want to believe I can have it some other way. But I don't. And I do believe that the best I can be is myself, the incarnation of who I've always been and the love I was given. I also believe in living my life for myself, in being my own. I don't like to sign letters "yours" anymore. But then. I don't have to step all the way across to the other extreme. I won't pretend I'm more independent than I am or that I even want to be. I'm just trying to recognize as many of the truths as possible this time.

I've been celebrating Mary Brave today. I didn't even realize it so much, until I went to type just now that I felt I'd gotten around to celebrating 2.5 and realized it was different than just that. I had little moments of connection to Rogers and connections to the girls I've been since, the days and nights and early mornings I have had (do you know there's a girl in me who woke up in D!@#$%^ nearly every day for almost two years?)... I like this person. I don't know how it's possible that a few hours ago I was crying about how much I didn't want my life - ("take someone who doesn't need connection, and let them be agoraphobic. find someone who doesn't care about relationships, and let them be alone") - only to decide once again that it is the best for me. Or will be. It's mine, and there's something in that. It's my party, and I'm not afraid to hold my head up now and then. (Even when my tears catch the light in that way. I want to be able to tell my mom I miss home, without either of us feeling guilty. I believe now that it's possible, but I don't believe it's possible now. Yet. I wonder, still; I wonder.)

I'll tell you a secret: When it's just me and my music, I'm glad to have a body. When it's just me and my music, I dance...

Nineteen going on... well? Let's just leave it at nineteen, going on. And I'm brave/ I'm brave...^

~me

^Stephanie Dosen

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