I Am an Emotional Creature: The Secret Life of Girls Around the World Read Online Free PDF Page B

then i was trying to run in really deep snow and it turned to jello and i was happy ’cause jello is a safe food but it turned out it was radioactive and i was going to die.
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    i believe in splenda. i like all substitutes. even miss hammer who only teaches on occasion. she never makes me feel bad. i can tell she was really skinny once ’cause she’s got wrinkles like that. she asked me what i felt like when i was thin. empty, not full of bad stuff.
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    my doctor said he is going to sue me for malpractice to my own body. he was gentle the way he examined me. i got so cold and was shivering. exciting to see bone. like finally getting to water after digging for years. almost pretty.
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    was sent to an eating disorder clinic. today we planted a tree in the yard, which symbolized our bodies growing healthy. i like my roommate china a lot. she has a tattoo of a hamburger on her ass. a reminder. reimagining our bodies in art therapy. i saw myself as a belly dancer with sparkly shaking bells and things. it was good for about two hours. then i got really depressed. beautiful is a country with gates around it. i’ll never be invited.
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    the therapist just doesn’t understand. its not like i think about it, okay? it lives there. must be thin. logo stenciled across my consciousness. like a permanent demand, like a mental coffee stain. maybe the whole system will just crash and they’ll have to program me with something else. shrink asks what would that be? i don’t know. annoying shrink asks again. okay, okay. maybe new logo reads: must not hurt so much. must be MORE PROFOUND. must be easy. must not be about only me. must not take up all this time. must not make me feel left out. MUST NOT MAKE ME WANT TO KILL MYSELF. i think i sound angry. everyone is really quiet for a long time. then china says maybe there’s no more logos or demands. maybe we just make it up as we go and so there’s no pressure or point. we’re just here, okay. with each other, doing stuff.

THE JOKE ABOUT MY NOSE
Tehran, Iran
    I was funny once. Really funny. Like everything I did and said funny. You would probably be laughing right now. I wish you were laughing. I wish I could give you examples of the funny I once was, but then I would still be funny. I know it’s hard to believe looking at me now. I look so pretty, right? Aren’t I pretty? Pretty girls don’t really look like anything particular. They look like everyone dreams of looking, but they do not look like anything you can really identify. When you describe someone pretty you say things like, “Oh, that girl, Ashley, she’s so pretty.” But when you describe not so pretty girls you always say something special about them, something about how they look. Oh, Maria, she’s the one with the wild hair, or Taina, her legs are a little short but she has great breasts.
    Before when I was funny I looked funny. I looked like something unexpected about to happen. It all had to do with my nose. It was big and ugly and funny. My nose was funny. When you met me you met my nose. Hi, welcome to my nose. I wouldn’t evensay I had a face. Just nose. Just big funny ridiculous nose. Noses are so intense. I mean have you ever really looked at yours? I used to look at mine all the time. It fascinated me. God, what is a nose? Even the word is so funny. Nose. The idea of nose.
    My nose put everyone at ease. It was a conversation breaker. Somehow it let everyone know I could be trusted. It is hard to describe, but my nose gave me permission. It inspired me with wicked ideas. It made me daring. It was like you’ll never be one of them so you might as well be yourself. I was the one in my classes who was the clown. They called me Gonzo. Like the muppet.
    My parents are not bad people. I know they love me. I know they want what’s best for me. But that involves their idea of what is best. And it has meant they know better than me. My parents who loved me planned, strategized, and eventually