These two journal entries written in my junior year of high school at Eastside Catholic in Bellevue, WA eerily foreshadow difficulties that would come to transpire in my adult life. Body image and personal appearance shape the way we feel about ourselves. It is comical to come across the self-proclaimed severity that I attributed to these situations at 17.
Dateline: January 27, 1991
Greetings. I went skiing today with Christine and Lauren. It was a beautiful day and I looked fabulous in my new outfit. The girls and I spent most of the day sitting in the lodge and just talking. I actually felt comfortable with Christine which is rare because she's usually bitching at me. Today we sat at our usual table (the same one for three years in a row) and talked about our parents and bashed everybody at Eastside that we didn't like. We also wondered about who in our class we think is having sex.
On the way home on the bus, the conversation, as usual turned around to my eating habits. (Thanks to Christine.) Ragan and Tina and the others all think I'm psycho.
I realize, that maybe I might have a little problem. It feels good not to deny it again. I am afraid of fat and gaining weight. OK, I admit it. I am deathly afraid of fat. It scares the hell out of me. Ragan is probably going to talk to Ms Gary (school guidance counselor) which means she'll tell my mom. My mom will freak out and I'll end up in the hospital being intravenously fed.
(Aside: what a strange foreshadowing of actual events to come 6 years later... )
Oh God, I am so frustrated. Sometimes I like the attention because it means that I am still thin but most of the time, it's frustrating.
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Tommy's terrible teens were torturous
A histrionic homo goes hysterical over hair.
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Dateline-March 25, 1991 Help! I hate my hair! I hate my life. I was tired of my Prince Valiant page boy and wanted something a little different. I made the mistake of giving my artiste hair stylist free reign of my head. He butchered my hair. I feel like an average, ugly, fat person. I remember my freshman year when I would have ridiculously short haircuts and always regret them. I should have known something was wrong when Michelle told me "it looks just like your hair from freshman year". I have been crying all weekend. My parents are out of town. I feel like my whole ego, my whole identity has been taken away. I really wanted to die. I conformed to the all American look that I've been trying to oppose my whole life. Not only is this the ugliest style anyone could ever have, it's also on every guy in this entire school! When my mom gets back, she's just going to love it. If one more person tells me how much better this looks, I'm going to bring an electric razor to school so they can see how being bald really feels. I was not meant to have short hair. It doesn't complement my plump face. Well, I'll just wait six weeks and then kill the hair stylist. I want to kill him!! I hate him!! I hate him!! I HATE MY HAIR!!!!
