flagrant disregard

blue linkia starfish- taveuni beach, fiji islands

the first thing out of resident doctor #4's mouth this morning was, "tristan, have you been having any seizures?" he can struggle with keeping the paternal at bay, but by including my first name in the question, not only did he seem authoritative, but the question screamed of urgency and protection.

either resident doctor #4 had read the previously posted blog entry, or i presented a poor specimen of myself at our project today. cappadocia pants, the comb broke last week, prostitute shoes, and a couple of facial twitches of mine arrived late to the magic closet. ucla is futzing with my route by insisting on road improvements, and this inconvenience required driving a few difficult laps around westwood village to find an alternative parking space. afterward, worrying about construction worker's eyes and stepping around all of that broken concrete threw off my obsessive schedule. memorial day weekend at a university campus apparently starts on thursday morning, rendering the morning drive down the 405 to clear, but i could never be one to blame the train. cappadocia pants-- do i still own superstitious cliff-scuffed clothing from my spontaneous visit to turkey? yes, but it's just for occasional physical reassurance.

no, i will not walk down to the emergency room with you.
no, i do not want you to call on the crisis team.
no, i will not go with you and have blood drawn this morning.
no, i will not get blood drawn on my own from another clinic.
of course i am drinking water-- how else could i keep up this mass?

an anorexic restricting food and living off of negligible has been meaningless.
suddenly, the anorexic who is restricting water gathers attention.

seizures? the lie stated 'i was unsure' and that technicality was to keep me out of the hospital-- but it didn't work on its own because resident doctor #4 questioned an entire list of physical concerns. cardiac arrhythmias? electrolytes? hallucinations or other visual disturbances due to dehydration? why care enough to admit the last three days have been full of symptoms and the physical hell caused by long term anorexia nervosa?

the apathy relates to history. sick? sure, i have a radical illness compared to someone else, but translating my past illustrates that a hospitalization now only reeks of fantastic health insurance coverage. it is difficult to admit that my body will revolt after slightly increased eating disordered behaviors now because the premise for illness all along has focused on endurance. i am not near as sick as once upon a time. the body adapts-- therefore current pathology should not be worth attention.

four conversations about hospitalization began but i challenged each one by simply asking why. resident doctor #4 would try to insist my physical health was in danger, but without any current stats or an executive blood panel on hand, ended up losing every point. of course, he could have forced the situation, but why be punitive and essentially disrupt our relationship (by placing me in a hospital) if not 100% certain?

one interesting note: in resident doctor #4's foggy closet this morning, all of those denials (lies!) specifically spoken around the particular, were actually being drowned out by the adequate attention and a profound feeling of relief.

[later:]

this morning was ridiculous. it has only happened once, but if i will sabotage my relationship with resident doctor #4 by withholding important information, then our meetings need to end immediately. the next time we assemble isn't until next friday, but i feel integrity crying and may phone him to disclose the secret symptoms. if not, essentially, i have a week to mature, to confirm insurance coverage is in order... to question or accept the care i am lucky to receive rather than intellectualize and fight every minor detail. a week from now i may be able to accept this care and essentially become a lot healthier by way of an unfamiliar peace.

on the other hand, if i am game to have blood drawn, scrutinized, and allow its measurable story available on paper, this next week may mean nothing more than water torture and escalated eating disorder.

it wasn't nearly as trippy as the episode in bangkok, but it feels as though i am trying to recover from what was probably another seizure. uncomfortable and slightly cloudy, it would have been entertaining to instead experience the sensation of splitting apart from my body in this less vulnerable setting rather than in sleep. language is impotent and coordination incompetent- i'll gamble but wonder throughout the night if these words will read the same tomorrow.

round trip airfare from los angeles to fiji= $51.75 [link]
total parking fees accrued in "lot b" at lax= $56.00
[...and i laugh and laugh until guilt shows up.]

can you hear the sarcasm? - somewhere, out there

[back in los angeles]
i almost blew the budget aspect of this trip and returned early. more than charm was needed to change the airline ticket, in fact, it would have cost $200 in order to board an earlier flight home. i considered paying the fee but stuck it out- this trip last week to the south pacific was that boring. what a non-stop person like me is supposed to do alone in deserted paradise remains an unsettled issue. flying to the islands for the sake of going, while knowing it would be mind numbing, was just ridiculous and i found myself pining for banal conversation with invalid friend.

coral eating sea cucumber- fijian seashore

pacific seashore- aitutaki atoll, cook islands [photo]

a poisonous black and white banded sea snake (laticauda colubrina)

broken open coconut- sigatoka sand dunes national park, fiji

how do you break open one of the obstinate coconuts found strewn along the beaches? a better question might be, "how to crack it apart in under four hours?"

first, this process functions to kill the initial idea of romance. second, make sure the coconut is ripe. removing the husk is not the endeavor, but if it is, find another fruit. after stripping the husk back, continually bash and rotate the damn thing against any hard piece of coral until it weakens and cracks apart. an alternate, or mature suggestion would be to locate the coconut's third eye, the soft non-symmetrical one, and dig straight into the meat of the fruit with a small knife. after the liquid drains and the fruit depressurizes, it is much easier to break open.

[nadi, fiji islands]
arrived, used the free resort shuttle service at the airport
no, this isn't my first visit to fiji warded off any recommendations.
spoiled to the core, i know it.

checked into a beachfront bure, a thatched roof cottage or hut:
- bed
- desk
- fan
- fridge
- shower
- coffee
- tea
- sofa
- chairs
- veranda
- roosters?!

long flight (11 hours from los angeles to nadi)
try to sleep (but it's a sunny 600am)
give up (roosters)
make coffee (why?!)


beachfront bure bedroom detail- club fiji resort, nadi, fiji

consider: am i going to drink coffee or hold and swirl the cup?
anorexia: "you can have the coffee, just not the water."
consider: is that backwards because i'm in the southern hemisphere?
unnamed problem, possibly ocd: "don't... coffee is cooked food."
anorexia: "yeah, no cooked food."
consider: i may have to boil drinking water in certain villages.
anorexia: "i said no water."
consider: idiosyncrasies are tolerated, insanity is not.
anorexia: "well then, only after it has boiled and cools."
unnamed problem, possibly ocd: "no, water would still be cooked food."
anorexia: "ha, you lose. no cooked foods."

note: even i can't get away with calling water a food!

[customs and immigration arrival queue]
[nan international airport- nadi, fiji]

1. have you traveled to southeast asia within the last ten days?
[x] yes [ ] no

2. if yes, list countries visited:
- singapore
- malaysia
- thailand
- cambodia
- myanmar (burma)

2. have you spent time on a farm within the last ten days?
[x] yes [ ] no

3. have you been in close proximity to livestock?
[x] yes [ ] no

4. are you carrying used sporting equipment (such as snorkeling or
scuba diving gear, bicycles, or used sports shoes)?
[x] yes [ ] no

consider: doomed for extra security procedures?
consider: additional screening for severe respiratory infection?

- immigration officer barely glances at arrival card answers.
- pages through well worn passport.
- smiles at fijian entry and exit visas from 2001.

[stamps passport]

"bula! welcome to fiji!"

[air pacific flight #811 meal service: los angeles - nadi, fiji]
consider: entertain sickness? health? both?
anorexia [to flagrant]: "i'll allow TI fresh, thai F2/F3, or L2.A."
flagrant thinks: the options are P55/NO4 & sloppy topping or the fCX.
anorexia [laughs hysterically]: "i know."
flight attendant approaches: "xTI with thai F2 & F5 or something else?"
flagrant [shocked] asks: "did you say TI?!"
flight attendant says: "...and it's fresh!"

flagrant scratches nose, peers out window, expects red explosion.

flagrant asks: "F2 and TI on a polynesian long haul?"
flight attendant [surprised]: "yes, i know!"

second flight attendant pulls open the drink cart drawer.
anorexia pings at the cans of apple juice with a forefinger in disgust.

flagrant [speaking via superstition]: "do you have any L2?"
flight attendant [apologetic]: "is L2.A okay?"
anorexia [breaking own rules]: "what!? erm, no. nothing thanks."

consider: lightning strikes flights twice?

flight departure monitor-
tom bradley international terminal at lax

[los angeles]
the week of hell is over and will now be celebrated in the south pacific with nothing but sunshine, a beach towel, and a backpack full of books. bula!

predictable
stupid
pre-trip anxiety:

the airplane (air pacific, boeing 747-400) is going to crash into the pacific ocean (middle of nowhere, south of hawaii, north of the equator) and my eyeglasses (new, making a spectacle, uncensored vision) will get lost in the splintered commotion. saving myself and several other passengers from ravenous creatures protecting their frozen ocean never registers a concern (pfft! minor exhaustion stemming from the swim)-- but how will i blindly drive home? the plane crash is apt to happen on the day prayers are answered (sunday may 22nd, bunbury's birthdate) and a thief finally stole my car (american monstrosity, piece of crap) from the 'lot B' section of lax airport's long term parking arrangement. what will i do but stand there and squint at the empty parking space, wince at my starting-to-scab over shark-nipped thigh, and flirt with ocd?

nothing bad will happen if i stay home.
nothing bad will happen if i stay home.
nothing bad will happen if i stay home.

later: oh, forget it. if i lived through a commercial airplane crash the airline would pay me off substantially and when american monstrosity eventually gets stolen from airport parking, auto insurance should grant my checkbook the choice of a new car lot. it's just fiji! how to break down the fear? i've broken coconuts open and stepped around stranded starfish on fijian beaches various other times. since there will be no invalid companion to babysit or entertain, what's the problem? sheesh, bring books and a bikini! this trip could be a (gasp!) vacation.

note to ocd: since bad is secretly good, bad cannot happen.

how embarrassing:
- to see my brain shutting down in print.
- to have ocd rule and tether blogging structure.
- to find out weight perspective was skewed by 22 pounds.

how disturbing:
- maybe my bathroom scale is old and inaccurate?
- perhaps the professional scale at the clinic is off, too?
- 22 pounds thinner than honestly thought registers no emotion.
- to save for elation, earn it, but only experience apathy.
- rd#4 saying the ultimate reason rather than the term death.

how exciting:
- three more pounds missing since those instantly lost 22.
- the lost cause in always trying to doubt fantastic truth.
- visiting the grocery store and lifting up a 20# bag of rice.

nothing makes me feel better than anorexia. i never found another weapon where both positive and negative experiences are energizing, or one where public concern can be explained as jealousy. "it works perfectly for me but ordinarily masks other issues," i thought, referring to the issue of the week, while reluctantly walking into the ucla npi building today for my appointment.

finally calmed down, it then clicked into place:
one needs to stir the pot to see what's in the soup.

"specific problem doesn't exist," resident doctor #4 suggested monday.
tuesday: doctor, meet ferocious illness.

consider: so much invested, blind to simple tactics?

you searched for:
- photos of death from anorexia nervosa
- thank you easter bunny bawk bawk
- joy division bioptic
- superheros are not real
- better than botox
- proana red bracelets are for fat girls
- laser refractive surgery
- flagrant funny cam
- dangers of no carbohydrates dieting

"what do you need to get through until friday," asked resident doctor #4.

after discussing potential hospitalization, he proceeded to rattle off a list of lovely benzodiazepines. perhaps, a prescription for valium? klonopin? haldol? this was a level of medication not usually offered to me. i sarcastically mumbled that the best option was gastric bypass surgery, but of course, this was ignored by his bemused smile.

here was an option to suppress my anger/anxiety/mania-- my realness?
for one week only, pick any drug out there!

"some seroquel or zyprexa...?" he offered.
uh, hell no.

"tranquilizers," he suggested.
no, i want to endure these terrible deserved feelings.

"well, research the antipsychotics for sleep."

wait, is he serious? why do psychiatrists automatically resort to dangerous neuroleptics to facilitate sleep? is it due to their familiarity with the medicine, or the rapid sedation? would the dose be in a patient's best interest, or simply to protect the physician's schedule and workload for the week? what would be wrong with knocking back an ambien or other ordinary sedative? they have much lower incidence of side effects.

[oh, the need for sighing]

consider how benzodiazepine receptors are ubiquitous throughout the central nervous system-- perhaps if pushed, i could try out the xanax or ativan tablets.

hold on, my god! who cares if i am in contact with my doctor on a weekly basis? physicians shouldn't scatter these medicines around as one would bread crumbs for a flock of geese. is my anxiety pushing me that high in the sky this week? wait-- is electroconvulsive therapy legal in california? man, my inventive and overtly sensitive self should just shut the hell up! i'm not sick... i just... developed a perfect situation where simple introversion was allowed to turn severe and thrive. from now on, i need to watch what i say to him or clarify my words by saying more or, say less to begin with, or, but... oh, who knows?!

the neuroleptics (antipsychotics) offered were for chronic insomnia, of course, but how can i think of anything but stigma (or reflect back on the entertaining afternoon spent with mark, the dutch man who revealed positive symptoms of schizophrenia?

the idea of seroquel tablets will always remind me of mark and of our afternoon in rotterdam... his guitar playing on a street corner... watching him roll joints at a bus stop... putting a celebrity in a very uncomfortable position at a photography exhibit... listening to him explain how radiation poured from his teeth when coldplay was heard on the radio. seroquel only reminds me of its treatment potential for schizophrenia, or how i manipulated a dangerous situation into one where a positive seed was planted. seroquel should never mean 'let's just bring life down a notch by sleeping through the week.'

the image and stigma of antipsychotic medication is definitely more important than for temporary use as an off-label sleeper. if i am overwhelmed, i need interpersonal connection and to learn how to deal with it-- not five potent pills and a long nap.

the entire reason the breakdown on monday: this was initiated by resident doctor #4 stating that he was not seeing [specific problem]. no conversation relating to [specific problem] is ordinarily offered to him, so his statement/opinion should be seen as valid. since i spend considerable time daily involved with [specific problem] resident doctor #4's words became unbelievably offensive and i stormed out. i insisted i would not return until the end of the month, but the situation was overwhelming and i ended up back in his magic closet within twenty four hours.

my brain had flipped out, insisting if [specific problem] was invisible it would provoke even worse rituals just for show, yet the common sense i have left was freaked and somewhat confused. the argument was, if i am not dealing with [specific problem] then what the hell am i doing at a psychiatrist's office at least twice a week? also, why is my physician offering such powerful medications?

so, this [specific problem] must need help.
...but apparently not if he cannot see [specific problem]?!
but i certainly have [specific problem] and i'll show him [!!]
...but he said [specific problem's] pathology wasn't visible.
oh yeah, then why do i have two office visits per week?

it was a very twisted and frustrating experience.

more random proof that i'm a loon (why continue looking for reasons?): resident doctor #4 called me in for an impromptu session in the closet and this makes three out of the last five days that i have seen my psychiatrist. sunday doesn't really count though, does it? how about saturday? fine, three out of the last three days, but only on a technicality.

i stood for over half of the appointment- right next to the door. hardly preconceived, he was insulted the entire time (mostly in an unfairly passive-aggressive way) while i drew circles with sharpie markers on a heavy square of cotton fiber paper. once again dumb things were said like, "you know... the problem might just be that i sniff these pens four hours a day... or this all could be due to the old paintbrush licking habit. it's cobalt paint poisoning obviously. is there some reason you couldn't think that far?" [not that there is ample cobalt in obtainable watercolor paints and if there were, the traces might be beneficial.] after underhandedly terrorizing him with unanswerable questions, each insult was sealed with a direct stare and bent nose. god, what a bitch. he'd calmly say something like, "yesterday was the first time you called me a physician--" and deadpan, i'd break in, "well, you know i wasn't feeling well." kill that person- certainly i was mute and stuck behind these eyes.

resident doctor #4 does understand he is valuable, doesn't he? me, the obstinate and isolated jackass, must hold respect and trust him more than anyone else ever found in the entire world to endure the life involved in getting to his magic closet. he does know that, right?

after some vicious information was finally revealed to him about daily anorectic behaviors, resident doctor #4 closed the hour by saying he is not beyond hospitalization and it is an open consideration. [well, i shouldn't have mentioned the current two week water fast and something disgusting about how i use bleach, but...] somehow the concept of hospitalization wasn't a threat, but just out in the open and possibly to let me know that i neither need flail nor get worse for attention. supposedly he struggled with thoughts of hospitalizing me the first few times i sat with him but never bothered to let on. now had he mentioned these concerns at the time, would i have found reason or even be rooted in current rituals? probably not.

next appointment: friday, will be very intense and lead to monday.
problem: sunday i fly to fiji, will miss both sessions next week.
problem: will not mention fiji, or lie, but don't know what to do.
problem: wonky eyes today, haven't been purging.

how can it only be tuesday if yesterday was six days long?

do not go beyond this point- honolulu, hawaii

[doom]
[heart palpitations]

[11:30am]
chuck telephones resident doctor #4.
note: flagrant doesn't mind.
note: flagrant makes sure intensity is heard in the background.
chuck says: "yeah, that's her."
[weird transition period]
flagrant mashes face into hallway carpet and listens to blood pressure.


[later][4:00pm]
chuck telephones resident doctor #4.
chuck says: "she still wants to kill herself."
consider: huh?! whoever said that?!
constantly misinterpreted flagrant gets intense.
fact: "feeling like one is going to" is different than "wanting to."
note: flagrant is rarely intense with volume.


[later][5:00pm]
flagrant says: "if you are not going to work just to help me, get out of the chair and do something."
chuck asks: "what can i do to make you feel better?"
flagrant: "i need some bleach, a leather belt, and for you to leave."
note: obviously this does not happen.
fact: problem would have then been solved.



[later][6:00pm]
chuck telephones resident doctor #4.
flagrant goes out to the car, draws a picture she once saw, returns.
chuck [gasp! still on phone!] hands receiver to flagrant.
flagrant [to rd#4] says: "what do you want?"
chuck looks shocked.
flagrant shrugs.

rd#4 [in a bad cell area] says: "how are you doing?"
flagrant says: "i'm great. so where are you? in the shower?"
rd#4 says: "hold on, i'm outside and there is a skunk in front of me."
flagrant [bitchy] says: "that's SUCH an interesting way to look at it!"
rd#4 says: "i mean it. it's... oh man, it's crossing right in front of me."
note: weirdness continues, solving nothing.


note: nothing ever works to feel better except time.
consider: why then, ever mention it to anyone?
consider: purchase gasoline cans for fiery suicide on a good day.


[later] [3:00am]
chuck telephones resident doctor #4.
consider: god, what in the hell is the point?

even though an unnecessary tropical vacation falls within the time frame, it's not going to be a good two weeks. everyone who ever met me should hurry and leave town. i keep experiencing what feels like great losses (actually the problem is an inability to express myself in order to get what is needed) and do not know how to keep away from displaced pain or how to alleviate the self injurious leather belt solution.

i don't know where or how to develop a family out here. there was a card sent from my grandmother in the mailbox today and i can't even open it up.

...but it wasn't forgotten. how could it be? after returning to the guest house and blaming all earlier sensations on dehydration and starvation, i elected to try a common cop out called 'perhaps, i'm just tired.' if i could die by simply getting smacked by a minibike and this body, which i continually treat as a machine, refused to even put up a fight, well then sure... i might honestly be tired.

the problem with this hysteria is in how i didn't seriously start to go mad until 30 hours later. the perpetual joke may be how DEATH lacks frequent flyer status and is often left behind at the gate, but DEATH could hardly be the concern when symptoms still involved preoccupation and physicality.

what was going on? was i stuck in a transition? the bigger concern of being trapped between heaven and hell afforded little attention. i was more annoyed with the fact that: 1) there wasn't an immediate mentor in this afterward, 2) that where ever i was, i would have to once again wander around and make the mentor out of myself in this newest version of life, 3) i had never believed there was going to be a physical mentor on the other side of life anyway so OF COURSE there was none, and, 4) why would i think for a second that there would be a mentor if i didn't ever think there could be one...

i logged on from the guest house computer and blogged about everything except this soulless experience. the post seemed to publish properly but never showed up. since i was 17 hours ahead of set 'pacific standard time zone' preferences and posting had been slightly delayed over the last week, this missing entry wasn't an issue.


photograph of paper currency- kyat, myanmar burma

the following morning i again logged on and blogged about the nuances of shopping in thailand, the oppressive humidity, and small fears concerning completing the myanmar projects.

the main worry was in how this trip might be unraveled on the last day by one stoic customs agent at the yangon airport. "luck is always on my side, plus i am confident in my abilities and composure," i wrote, "this time i will gamble without fear." all i needed to do was exit myanmar with a notebook or two full of virtually unreadable notes, but the simplicity in that thought did not work to calm myself down. journalists are very rarely issued visas for myanmar, and writing extensively about the country is not exactly illegal, but travelers on tourist visas who have been mistaken for journalists are notoriously harassed. in the midst of the misinterpretation, travelers have had their possessions confiscated. would notebooks of hand drawn maps, directions, and opinion draw suspicion if searched by a government agent? would i be waved through the security area of the airport unchecked as last time? if stopped, would an official just see my backpacker profile, do a cursory drug check, and never even flip through my 400 pages of information?

temporarily relaxed after blogging myself through those (possibly real) concerns, i published the post. clearly, the words were there, but once again refused to show up in print. ten percent of the nastiness that whispers in my head laughed as i reconsidered the possible ethereal disconnection. i wasn't successfully making a dent in the real world this week-- might that sensation of death have actually happened?

could it be? had i any human interaction since being killed on the street? yes, but no, and so after logging off i walked to the corner convenience store and purchased an unnecessary liter of water.

a ten thai baht coin in hand
the cashier was in a dream
words were not exchanged

hmmm...

still on earth and sipping water but what was to be done now? i logged on again to investigate my blogger account and saw that now none of my soulless entries even existed! i wrinkled my nose and tried to reserve a room for one night in singapore, but four different hotel websites offering availability could not confirm my arrival. this was very funny, but muted panic set in though i was stuck in such an entertaining voxel. i was proactive and sent out an e-mail: "could you please reply to this as soon as you see it? even if you just hit reply without typing. 'disconnected' is too fine of a word today." i didn't explain.

while lingering in the fog and mapping out foreign communes, and preoccupied with the differences split between knew and know, i was spending more time second guessing the mentor. ludicrous! what did i think there would be-- a billboard? a person? a voice? possibly a fedex envelope with instructions? was i to receive the directions to heaven? wait a minute?! was i supposed to go somewhere? why even consider? i have always known it will just be me in the end... and why was i now suddenly preoccupied with those toads?! readily available from the crate to the plate-- but why this time? when previously perusing multiple chinatowns worldwide, crunchy amphibians and toasted grasshoppers never stirred more than a frown of disgust. suddenly i was obsessed. why are the toads usually sold right next to the eels? do they share the a similar side-order connection? like french fries and onion rings? do the toads pop when you cook them? are the gutted first or thrown right into the vat of boiling oil? pith 'em? poke 'em? stab them with the skewer? how about a hammer? well, i always knew... but why didn't i know?

later in the afternoon i pushed the nutcase into the light and skewed the toad topic to rant about being suffocated by malaysian women while making a ferry crossing. they all held fried fish by the tail and actively gnawed off the blackened heads-- and i couldn't bring myself to stop vascillating between alive and dead eyes.

an illusion of resident doctor #4 stared at the sports pages. though he is not known to be a sports fan, i didn't really want the news, but did wonder where he picked up a copy of the los angeles times in bangkok. possibly at the english language bookstore down in sukhumvit? occasionally he would look up, somewhat romanticize the lunacy in the room, and then manipulate the experiences to appear i have a terrific self-awareness. it seemed ridiculous to truthfully speak of delusions only to be interrupted by the metaphor. "oh, how perfectly poetic. you switched the lamp on in the afternoon, and are interested in the availability and arrival of the news, but don't yet want to read it. that's an interesting way to describe this insight... the eyes of life and death." i stopped talking to ceiling fans and resident doctor version #4.1 long enough to fly home.


northwest airlines tokyo [nrt] - honolulu [hnl]
economy class seating

me [sitting in his magic closet at ucla, animated]: i mumbled extensively about the wacked delusions of dehydrated terror in foreign lands, and how i was benumbed to the world (or at least the situation in south east asia). i admitted being ashamed to experience exhausting complacency, and even went so far as to say this trip sucked. what a fat statement, but it led to another-- after dying from one minor thump in the road, a major concern was in having to walk around sleazy bangkok for the eternal afterward.

a portion of this trip was stuck in time but how many days actually passed before being resurrected due to the attempted theft? was i angry at the scene of the crime? god no, the experience excited sky high giddiness which i thought was beneficial to clear my head. why would i be angry to be reminded to pay attention? cue those adrenals! all alone in a foreign city, the almost snatched bag was definitely was a positive event-- and the joke to follow is how the near catastrophe gave me reason to trade a deteriorating daypack for a new kipling shoulder bag. the markets in bangkok are full of cheaply sewn replicas and fakes, but kill me, quality was required and a new bag was purchased at the kipling store in siam center for full price. i broke rules while away and this afforded me convenience rather than hell.

the newfound clarity also reflected from mirrors. the twisted veins wrapping around my biceps and streaming down my chest became embarrassing. the stolen glances from strangers didn't look like the familiar 'wishful teenage gazes' but instead, ones of concern. not one but two exciting bodily architectural feats took place on this trip, almost immediately lending lanugo disturbing and trichotillomania unattractive, but what do you do? anorexia nervosa is hard to disguise in a tropical climate and wasn't managed very well. people get sick and eventually "give in" rather than "get better" but what if this has gone so far that the illness is no longer about endurance? what if it is truly to the point where i can not physically sit down comfortably due to protruding bones for longer than ten minutes anymore? a mirror in malaysia indicated an x-ray. "i'll always look sickly or pointed after these last six months of restriction, so what's the use in beginning to try?" how could my reflection have been more condensed than i thought? how did one day on the calendar change and suddenly everything looks wrong? how does the brightest gelled light fail to cover it up? i never used the word grotesque before since the physical structure anorexia provides is interesting and not mortifying. perhaps when an anorectic gets so dehydrated that they can store things in the pockets above their cheekbones one can finally say thirsty.


vending machine - shinjuku railway station, tokyo

the only crazy part was actually in tokyo when i caught the jr line to the shinjuku district and paid US$10 for 10 aspirin and not, let me repeat, not when life escaped me in the middle of the road.

en route home, a flight attendant adopted me during the leg between tokyo and honolulu- super-duper sticky rice weirdness ensued! she treated me strangely, not quite motherly, but as though i was very young yet not young enough to be in the unaccompanied minors program. i had no seat-mate on that flight, thus used it to my advantage for keeping dvt away- walked to the lavatory numerous times. each time i stood up, that flight attendant booked down the aisle to catch up, tried to engage in conversation, and offered me something to drink. hours after the meal service ended, she even approached my seat twice and asked if i wanted something to eat. this was so weird since i had been paying attention to how other passengers were handled and no one else was getting extra treatments. in fact it was so odd i went and said goodbye to her before deplaning.


hanauma bay nature preserve park- oahu, hawaii

my twelve hour hawaiian layover was smartly spent in a rental car. i proceeded to drive around the rim of oahu until sensations surged and life coerced the car into a convenience store parking lot. while driving i tried to ingest [something] because [something] is supposed to save my life, except [something] is very frightening since it consists of [something else] and i'd never ever (ever!) ingest [something else] though the calorie/portion ratio of [something] is comparable to [food #1]. stressed out and vomity (not purg-ity) on the north shore of the island, death and i were very happy to throw up at such a beautiful park.


kualoa park, near chinaman's hat- oahu, hawaii

now in los angeles the mirrors are all angry due to the lower leg edema which comes from sitting too long on an airplane. parotids slightly swelled from sickness thus several new facial dents are temporarily invisible... so maybe none of it ever happened at all?


cambodian visa sticker and passport stamp showing entry at poipet

resident doctor #4 [paging through my passport, looking at the visa from cambodia]: insists this was a phenomenal trip and hardly boring, but he admits to having never traveled there. after some resuscitation from the attempted theft, the old familiar was seen in a new light, not only in the landscape, but in numerous spectrums of myself. during the last two weeks it appears i have been able to come to terms with subjects ordinarily ignored.

i died in bangkok- while stepping from the curb onto a busy street. suddenly lacking a vocabulary, can i deflect to the ineffable and just say it was weird? painless, calm, and bemused by sudden uncertainty, standard stressors still surrounded me but were easily ignored.

step down, take a step into the street. a commotion? an explosion? i experienced something less electrical than a bright white seizure, but the sensation was similar to lightning hitting the commercial 747-200 a few days ago. it took one split second, allowed no room to think, but time stopped long enough to remember everything. as though nothing happened, never ever complain, i continued crossing the road. spiritual disconnection tingled and escaped from the front half of my body. weightless now, but let's not compare lightness of air. people are wrong when they talk about dimes at death as the soul seems to weigh in around 13 pounds.

over my shoulder, and within the same fraction of time, a minibike turned and closely zipped behind me. i watched him speed down the toad vendor's street until it was time for me to step up to the next curb. he was the one.

suddenly it all made sense: life was in order. all bills had recently been paid in full and i was again debt free. my home was immaculate without even a cloth of laundry needing to be done. the kitchen table held all copies of documents, account numbers, and directions should anything happen while i was away. most importantly, i had made contact with people in my life before stepping into the airplane. then i understood why it was imperative to drag motherfigure kicking and screaming to bangkok last year. i just met my demise in this foreign city and motherfigure needed to be shown she could manage thailand.

looking back again, traffic sped around the same corner and therein lies the sour lesson of how everything does continue. life extinguished merely by a minibike? death at the hand of someone else, i always joked, but emotions were no longer underlined. there was no regret or anger, only the familiar state of chaos at once but never anything tangible at all. this could be perfect for my family. it would appear that i was in my foreign element- therefore father dearest could easily manipulate the emotional situation by insisting this death was not sad.

around the fruit market with its torture chamber tropical fruits, and tiptoeing through the nauseatingly puddled fish market, eventually i traded delusions for daydreams. weaving through walls and walls of people, i continued stepping along uneven sidewalks until reaching the point where death was forgotten.

fear.

today i noticed a nervous dent. though it was more of a sunken line in an obvious place, shouldn't i have been in charge of when or where it appeared? the dent was tended to with [food #3] a few hours ago but has yet to disappear. drank [something] soon after, since [no calorie liquids] certainly keep weight on, but only grew loopy.

talking to the ceiling fan about inpatient hospitalization didn't get anywhere. would white coated exhaustion make lifebox lean back in a bed or is an occasional stroll allowed? how often would resident doctor #4 visit me? i'd probably say something stupid to him like, "so... you're doing a fine job." essentially a slam, he could disconnect himself and understand the humor as an invitation to chat. neither about him nor his practices, and knowing he understood, the flatness of the joke would ring in my ears for months.

forefinger meet thumb, at what might be considered shoulder rather than arm. congratulations lifebox, today is your day.

traveling by canoe via canal or klong- bangkok, thailand

[bangkok, thailand]
finally! someone tried to mug me. how potentially exciting! it was my own fault though, seeing as i was walking after dark and carrying a melting daypack.

excuse: no pant pockets.

oh well, a situation was inevitable. how can one continually traipse around the globe without acquiring at least one tale of woe? woe is me 'cuz it's sweltering, people keep trying to feed me toasted grasshoppers, and i'm bored out of my mind-- unfortunately none of that ranks. complacent with this familiar thai city, the attempt was beneficial to keep me grounded. no, the man did not get knocked down. almost, and i would have loved to, but couldn't really give chase.

excuse: wearing sandals.

what would have been lost? having returned to the guest house, i methodically arranged the contents of the (ripped! ruined!) daypack on the bed in an attempt to parent myself.

10 adhesive bandages (just purchased, the reason i was out)
3 tissues (thai toilets, you know)
1 half liter of bottled water
a fistful of assorted baht coins
and jungle luggage keys
= less than two dollars of value, not including the bag itself as i figured to toss it in the trash upon arriving home.

big score. the thief would have ended up with medicated band-aids.

[bangkok, thailand]
two women, both wearing greasy and beat up oven mitts, trying to heft up an enormous open vat of rapidly boiling cooking oil... a dangerous banded krait, neurotoxic and contained in a box, killed on the spot for medicinal purposes... hidden deep down a soi in chinatown? nope- all parked out next to bangkok's modern siam square shopping center. this city is going backwards in time.

[bangkok, thailand]
while seeking out the mangosteen to enlighten the most arrogant appetite, i gave up the sweetness due to reasons of seasonal scrawniness and...well, just say no to thai pickled mango! (silly me, i thought it was a photogenic sliced papaya.) pungent piko fruits pickled with garlic, now there's a concept people must reconsider while running to the bathroom.

undoubtedly, resident doctor #4 is going to push a topic relating to "freedoms allowed on this trip" and i thought best to have an experience on hand-- but why take one specimen of sweetest perfection and cripple it in vinegar? why not stack mangoes next to the crate of toads to batter, skewer, and deep fry?

[bangkok, thailand]
it's too hot to be outdoors when the rubberized stays on your (piece of crap) leather daypack actually start to melt.

[bangkok, thailand]
myanmar visa has finally been approved (yay) now it's time to fly and get to work (easy, fun) i wish i died a long time ago (typical reaction to the relief, the time period experienced immediately after stress) somewhat bored out of my mind this trip(not allowed, considering the expense, exotic location, and ability to be here) traded rambutan's fragrant allowance for a common apple purchased from a vendor's street market stall (it worked, perfect, no stomach discomfort or foreign fruit fears, clean and safe food) is it time to go home yet (hey! no complaining allowed when choosing the spiked lifestyle and finding that the polarization in extremes no longer tingle) next on the itinerary is the arrival into yangon and flight to bagan, myanmar (what is the weather like, humid and 105'F with sporadic thunderstorms?) no sir, i don't want to buy a puppy in bangkok (actually...) no sir, i don't want to buy and eat a deep fried toad (or any weird foods, especially not those tourist sideshow deep fried spiders in skuon, cambodia that locals snatch up and gobble as though eating french fries) no, i don't want a taxi, or mototaxi ride, or tuk tuk (walking, i must be the only able-bodied farang around) no, i don't want a massage, or a budget room with breakfast, or smelly durian, or a beaded anklet, or skewers of mystery meat satay, or a cheap plastic replica of a designer handbag, or kilos of rotting mangosteen, or or...

nothing else (lies)

newsflash: no one's called me sir!
note: due to REX, i particularly hate the foreign sir syndrome.
consider: foreign sir syndrome (inability to effectively communicate)
consider: teenaged boy syndrome (eating disorder flattening out body)

i must be the most boring person on earth (don't believe it, default statement) ordered pieces of furniture and huge ceramic garden urns at the chatuchak weekend market (bargained hard) had it all packaged and shipped home (super expensive, more than purchases) have had two pairs of eyeglasses crafted since last week (super cheap shopping, buying eyewear is a fantastic thai bargain) never want to travel alone anymore (ever, feeling that i don't need or want to be alone this time) and the passport is stamped in full aside from one page (guess that solves that)

:(