Deservingly Starving,
I choke down my muffin,
fake blueberries and all.
I'm still hungry but I find it easy to shun the hunger
when all I see in the mirror is the ugly, fat, gross
me.
The muffin is enough for today,
enough to keep me from being so hungry I get sick.
I can't help but glance down at the pudge where my stomach should be,
where it should be flat.
Flat like you see in all the magazines.
Flat like you see the popular people have.
Maybe some toning here and there, but not like me.
Not blubbery fatness.
Dad says fatness shows how lazy you are
and lazy people go nowhere in life.
I'd better not be that lazy person going nowhere in life.
I need to be the best.
I need to be flawless.
I sit with my arms covering the pudge,
maybe nobody can see.                             Yeah right.

How gross do I look to other people?                            Repulsive.

Maybe I shouldn't have eaten the muffin.                   Wouldn't have made a difference.

My stomach lets out a sharp warning to
fill it.
I reach into my pocket and extract a dollar,
maybe water will shut it up.
I stand up and evaluate the position of my sweatshirt
I stretch it as flat as it will go against my body.                        as if that's gonna help.

I head toward the water machine but get waved down by
Hayley. Bright eyed and vibrant as always.
Thin too.
She is a walking toothpick. Definitely not lazy.
She waves at me to come over, so I do.                   
                     Rachel,over here! she calls
                                                           Are we hanging out today?





Hayley's version of 'hang out'
involves a visit from
our friend Marijuana, and her good partner Alcohol.
Unfortunately they like to make you hungry, so there is a lot of
food involved as well. What a complicated relationship.
Still, it would be nice to escape myself for a little bit.
"sounds like a plan to me" she likes this answer.                 Ok cool! sounds good! Just text
                                                           about an hour or so before you come!
                                                           I gotta get ready!

'Get ready' meaning pick up. I nod and before I can even
turn away to continue my own path to the drink machine
she has turned back to her own
friends,
who eagerly await the grape vine gossip about
who's seeing who and who did what and when and where,
and I don't care.
I am going to go out tonight and that's all that really matters
right now.
I just need to figure out first of all how I'm going to
get out of the house tonight.
Dad isn't exactly the most lenient on when
I may, or may not leave.
And if there is going to be food there, I'd better
empty myself before I go. No need for more empty calories if they can be
avoided.
I proceed to the drink machine and allow it to swallow my dollar whole in
exchange for and ice cold water.
I make a quick decision to make a b-line for the bathroom.
If I'm going to get high and eat, guess I won't need that muffin anymore.
It's lunch time so the bathrooms should be empty, everyone always waits
until class, they may need an excuse to leave, miss work, miss the homework being assigned.
Can't do it if you didn't know it existed.
I'm in luck, the bathroom is vacant.
I slip into a stall quickly and take a gulp of the water.
I can feel the cold stream slide so smoothly
down my throat
in my chest
into my stomach.
I remove a pen from my back pocket and with one swipe
across the back of my throat my stomach empties itself.
Not like there was much to empty anyway.
I slip the pen back into it's pocket and take another sip of water
before flushing the evidence of my sick secret.



I am surprised to find
a face staring at me when I open the door.
Pale and lost expression over her face
as if she just saw a puppy get run over by a car.
"Bad milk, forgot to check the date." I say nice and smooth
sounding like it might even be true.
Another thing I've become talented with, lying.
She gulped down the saliva collecting in her mouth and
accepted my answer.     
                Oh good. I didn't know what to think haha,
                gotta remember to check those dates!

If there is any doubt in her mind about it, she is good at hiding it.
She really believes me. She must not have seen much in the
little crack between the stall door and wall.

I go to walk toward the door but she stops me

              I'm Heather, I am new here,it's nice to meet you!

Explains why I have never seen her around here before
I may not be popular and know everybody but you get used to seeing faces
around all the time, it is easy to learn who is who
and this face is certainly not one i have seen before.
"Hi, I'm Rachel, nice to meet you too."
Her eyes show a glimpse of excitement that I talked to her.
I can see where this is going, she wants to be friends.
What if she did see something?
Maybe I should be nice to her, find out if she knows or not
last thing I want is her spilling about me being some bulimic freak.
That would get me into trouble with dad big time.
That is a weakness, and weakness is not to be tolerated.
Before I can say anything more I am saved by the bell.
We leave with a mutual 'nice meeting you' nod and into the hallway we
go our separate ways.
Her silent promise to come find me later and become my shadow.
Try to get inside my head and find out what makes me tick.
The very thought makes my skin crawl.
What if she were to learn these things?
What would she do if she found out about everything?            nothing.
What would happen to me?                           nothing.
My dad?                         nothing.
her?                           nothing.   

How could nothing happen?
Maybe she would not say anything
just be a quiet by stander and not say
anything?
Maybe she wouldn't care,
maybe nobody does.
Maybe nothing will change.
My father will still be the same
I will still have to live up to his standards
still live in my mothers shadow
still expected to be
perfection.


PERFECT
is all he wants
all he expects of me
all I am allowed to be.
But it is perfectly (pun intended) ok for him
to screw up.
Nobody has to know about his mistakes
especially because they always
somehow
become my fault.
I managed to make him screw up.
Since it is my fault, I must be corrected for it.
It isn't perfection, so it must be the opposite.
Disgrace.
If you ask me,
cop or not,
his form of correction goes beyond the legal and moral
limits.
But then again, he is above the law.
What if he wasn't a cop?                   Doesn't matter.
Would he still get away with it?               yes.
Would he finally get caught?                 no.
Would the man I'm forced to call 'dad' finally
be punished for his
imperfections?
I wonder if someone would
listen.                           why?
If someone would see why I'm me.    
Would they care?
Would they learn his rules?               1.No Trust
                             2.No Hope
                           And 3. definitely
                              No Love.
Outside the classroom
I see many of the people who I guess can be
considered friends.
Or at least as close as someone could get
to me I suppose.
We don't know each other outside school,
other than Hayley and the little group we 'hang out' with.
The others out here take part in similar or
very much of the same activities I suppose
just, with other people.
I wonder why they do it,
are there different reasons to do it
when the end result is the exact same?
The goal overall is the same anyway,
we all do it to get high.
Perhaps they do it for fun, or maybe they are
like me                          probably not.
Maybe they do it to escape.
The question is, escape what exactly?
            pressure.
              stress.
                abuse.
                  life.
If it is to escape life, then they need to
rethink their plan, they won't end it
by getting high for a little bit.
Maybe they only want to escape it
temporarily.
I may have issues but I'm not suicidal.
That is a big pet peeve of mine,
I hate people who want to simply take
the easy way out.
They would rather kill themselves
than work through their problems,
rather die than wait things out to
get better
or find help.
Suicide is a permanent solution to
a temporary problem.
It is also the
ultimate weakness.
Like my dad has said in the past   "If the parent-less poor 
                   children in third world countries
                    can do it then you better not
                    complain about doing it."
My life really isn't that bad
compared to them.
So why am I the one struggling so much?            you are weak.
I know I am.
I learned that after trying to quite
for the thousandth time the awful things
I got myself into.                              got us into.
yes. got us into.

Us is me.
Us is the voice in my head.                    
Us is my own voice speaking back to me in my head.
Sweet and
Cruel to me
at the same time.
I'm not schizophrenic                              that                               you know of.
Just me up here
I think.
She, the voice, is me but
she is the me that doesn't
care about me anymore.
She shut me out long ago
I never would have started half of the things
I do now
if it was not for her taking over to help me screw up.
She is driving now and I'm the passenger.
Somehow she still blames
the good, well behaved half of me
for the crash into every tree
that came our way.
For heading down every wrong road
we had the chance to take.
And since my half caused it all,
my half gets to clean up the remains.
But since they are both me, just rebel me
and good girl me, that makes me normal
right?                                barely.

I sit through class thinking about all of this.
Debating if I can be clinically crazy or not.
Wouldn't it be great it I could just blame my
irresponsibility and poor choices on
a mental illness?
I consider the reasons
I do what I do, it all has to come back to three things:
      Lack of control         in my life (in my own hands)
      Wanting to escape      from my life (just not permanently)
      Correcting myself     for my life (or dad will do it for me)


It is like analyzing myself.
Rachel 1 analysis of Rachel 2.
At the end of the day I still can't tell
if I am crazy or normal
and it doesn't matter because
I can't talk about it.
Dad wouldn't tolerate it.
I'm sure mental illness falls under
imperfect on his standards.
Knowing that there is nothing I can do about it
makes me want to
scream
  cry
   yell
 shout
tear the world down.
Hate everyone in the world
including myself.
Makes me so frustrated that
I don't know what to do with myself.
Sometimes I need something to stop
the anger and pain from growing farther
out of control.
I will admit to doing some pretty stupid stuff
trying to relieve the pain and anger.
/including a long period of time with
S.I (self Injury) problems.
Luckily that ended when I met MariJ.
I know that doesn't sound good but
the way I see it, I'd rather see someone high
than cutting themselves up into bloody words.
I am glad I've moved past that.
And without anyone knowing.
Not my dad,
Not my 'friends',
Not my teachers,
nobody.
No need for the senseless drama
to cause more stress in an
already screwed up
state of mind.


After School
I call my dad and tell him I'm going over
to the library to do my homework then to Hayley's to study
and lucky me, he buys it.
When I get to Hayley's I see she has fulfilled her promise
of artificial happiness in a pipe.
Good stuff too.
It is being passed around the small circle
and small talk is made while we
wait our turns.
              ...can't believe he said that!-Diane
                  I know!- Carly
                    Take your hit already! damn!-Hayley
Finally it comes to me.
First hit always seems to burn me
I hold it in. cough.                Nice one!-Hayley as she pats my back
round and round it goes
each stop it makes
every person hits it
every hit climbing       higher
                     higher
                          higher
falling              farther
                      farther
                          farther
from reality.
Everything is funny now,
fun and happy
and good.
Nobody is upset
nobody cares about who is with who
doing what
when
and where.
It doesn't matter right now,
we are all laughing
at nothing.
I feel like my head is full of helium and
it feels cool. I'm sure everyone agrees.
Four bodies wobble into the house and
straighten out while we (attempt to) walk
to Hayley's room.
Past her parents,
her brother,
and dog.




Hayley's family
seems so perfect.
They truly are a very beautiful
family
two parents
two kids
one dog
three cats
a nice house.
Picture Perfect family.
Almost like my family
before the drugs and drinking,
before the cutting,
before the split me,
before dad drank,
before mom died.
It all used to be perfect.
Only difference is I
don't have any sibling to care for
or to take care of me
or any pets to cuddle.
Dad hated cats and mom was
allergic to dogs.
That was ok with me as long
as I had my parents to love me.
All the problems disappeared as long as they were together.
But then the truth came crashing down.
Mom showed us just how imperfect she really was.
Poor mom couldn't live up to his standards.
When we finally reach Hayley's room,
which seems to take an eternity
we all stumble in and collapse into laughter on the floor.
We are all on top of each other wiggling around
trying to find our feet.
The fresh marijuana rush still alive and well in us,
we finally manage to stop laughing and
catch our breath. Hayley dives straight for her stash
of chips she hides under her bed for these
occasions.
The other two rush to join her.
I wait until the crowd dies down to drive in.
I will regret it later I'm sure but
right now I don't care.
I'll worry about it later.
Hayley's family must be deaf
we have laughed so loud and so much
I swear they either know and don't care, or they
are deaf.

We spend the rest of the time
pretty much the same, laughing and giggling
and talking.
Trying not to be too loud.
I wish I could feel this great all the time.
I feel like I'm                     Flying.
Not held down by                   Standards.
Not expected to be                   Perfect.
The bad part about getting high
is what goes up
must come:
Drowsy and tired
Out of it completely
Wishing this wasn't happening
Not wanting to return to 'normal'
(DOWN)
and right now all of us are
coming down.
Everyone is crashing,
but trying really hard not
to fall asleep.
Fighting it hard,
and losing.
I probably should just stay the night
but I don't think dad would like that.
I don't want a correction.
I get up, luck
I have better balance now.        Where are you going Rachel?-Hayley
"I gotta go home Hayley, my dad is home
and waiting"                     waiting for me
                           waiting to correct me
                           for being out too late
She dropped her head back down to the pillow
and out she goes.
Passed out just like everyone else in the room
but me.
Looks like I'm walking home alone tonight.




When I leave the room
it is clear that Hayley's family are all sound asleep.
What time is it anyway?
I glance around the living room and
spot a clock that reads
"10:40"
Maybe if I'm lucky he will have
drank himself into a coma by now
and I won't get a correction tonight.
I don't live far so it won't take too long to walk.
His curfew is still ten for me.
It is way past that.
It is almost pitch black out on our street,
other than the occasional street light.
The world in silent slumber,
other than the few stray wanderers
and homeless people.
I wonder what it is like to be homeless.
No dad to report to daily.
No responsibility.
No standards to live up to.
No reason to hide inside yourself.
Just you to worry
and to care about.
I bet I could do it.
I already rely on myself most of the time.
Just need dads permission to go places.
I can take care of myself though.
Maybe I should look into getting
emancipated.                   He would never sign for it.
When I reach my house, the lights are off.
Maybe I'm in luck and he is already sleeping.
I check the front door:
locked.
I climb over the back fence and try the back door:
locked.
crap.
I think my window is unlocked.
Luckily it is on the ground level
so it won't be too hard a climb in.
Yes.
Luck.
I slip into my room through my window
and slide out of my clothes and into
my blankets.
Maybe he didn't miss me.
Wrong.


My door swings open
and he is standing there with his mouth open
I can smell the whiskey from here.
damn.
He stomps in and I'm bracing for the first correction.
He lifts his arm and throws his empty whiskey bottle
across the room and it nearly hits me
in fact, the glass is on my bed from where it broke.
                                        You filthy little bitch! You stayed out again!
                                        Who were you with? Where were you?
                                        Don't you dare lie to me!
My mouth is still a lot slower than my mind
and I can't get my thoughts together
or the words to even leave my lips.
I sit like an idiot just staring at him.              

You were with your little boyfriend
                                        weren't you?? Huh? You little whore!
                                        No daughter of mine will sleep around!

He raises and arm pumps it back and lets it
go full force
just missing me by an inch,
thank you whiskey.
The whole in the wall would have been my face.
He grabs me from my bed and throws me to the floor
and kicks me in the ribs.
Then as if it never happened he turns and walks out
shuts the door behind him and once again
the house is silent.
I get back up and climb back into bed,
shake off the glass from my blanket and
let the drift of the crash take me away.
The kick would have hurt worse if it was not for me
already crashing.
It didn't help so much in the morning though.
I woke up with a lovely little cut on my head
(apparently I did not get all of the glass off my bed)
and an equally ugly bruise on my side.
Just another cut to cover with makeup
and another bruise to pretend
isn't there.
This is nothing new to me.
Been there done that.
It has been this way since mom died.


The night mom died
She came home later than the curfew
set for her by dad.
He accused her of sleeping around.
She begged him to no hit her again.
Then she made the terrible mistake
of trying to fight back.
I've tried so hard to forget that night
but it still haunts me.
                Miranda, you whore!
                I knew you were trouble!
                I knew you would do this to me!
                How could you do this to me Miranda?
                I loved you! But you can't listen!
          Joe! Please don't do this to me! Please!
          No! Joe you're hurting me! I didn't go anywhere Joe!
          I was with Trish!
  `              Shut up you whore! You'll pay
                 for sleeping around you bitch!
         Joe! Wake up! Please! Joe!
He didn't wake up,
He didn't sop hitting her.
Eventually she fought back.
          You ignorant bastard!
          How dare you accuse me of
         cheating on you! How dare you!
         as she attempts to catch him off guard.
But he is stronger than her, even when drunk.
He had scratches,
she had broken bones.
He is a cop
she was a nobody
he claimed self defense
she claimed a death certificate
with a police report stating she attacked him.
If I told anyone, he would get away with two murders.
I don't know if my mom cheated on him or not but
I doubt it.
Even six years of hiding it all
doesn't erase the memories.

People keep secrets
for all reasons.
All kinds of secrets
and we never know just how deep and dark
another persons may be.
We all have stories.
We all have things we have to deal with.
We also all have our ways of dealing with them,
just so happens my way of dealing with this is
to get high and escape once in a while.
Nobody will ever know
the truth of my moms death
or of how he holds me to his
standards of perfection that I will never attain.
But I know as long as I do my best
and don't try to fight him back I should
be ok.
First thing i did when I woke up was put on makeup
then put on my running shoes to burn off he calories
from last night.
I run for about a mile and a half round trip back to my house
in time before dad got up.
Just like any other day after a correction,
we don't speak of it.
ever.
No words or thoughts about it
just continuing on as if it didn't happen.
I wonder if what he does makes him guilty so
he tries not to think about it.
I wonder if mom haunts him at night
for what he has done.
Either way, he doesn't seem to care
ever.
I just wait for the day someone decides
to re-investigate him about my mothers death
maybe he gets caught in the end.
Maybe that will never happen.
I choose not to eat breakfast this morning
instead I take a longer shower and put on more
makeup and go to school.
Just like any other day.
Nobody notices a thing.
That is, other than Heather.      Hey Rachel! How are you? Are you ok?
                                                           You look a little stiff.
"Yeah I'm ok, thanks for asking."
She has doubt in her eyes but she takes the answer.               Ok, Well, I'm here if you want to talk.


Maybe someone does notice after all.
Maybe she can help.
Maybe things will change.            Maybe.
Maybe I can                  Trust. Hope. Love.