So I figured it all out. I was just celebrating our new jobs with my friend David and trying to explain the disconnect I feel, socially, from many of the women at work. Sister reminds me that I always feel this way, first of all. And then in my discussion with David I realized that I am not really, you know, dying to myself; I am stuck in an eighth grade, obese, alterna version of myself. What I am freaking out about when sweet social workers reach out to me to eat lunch is that they think I am like them. I no longer wear men's clothing, use music as my basic reference point, and most salient to me, I am no longer fat. The way I used to mark my outsider status, my superior depth and intellect, has left me. Or I ditched it because it was a hinderance and an illusion. In the absence of a subculture, a subculture that I never really fit into and that I loved liked a fool hugging a cactus, I am left feeling all vulnerable and defenseless. Like I felt before I found punk rock and after I found the warm embrace of compulsive eating.

What lurks behind all of this is that the identity I really want is that of a good, God-loving woman, a warm and compassionate heart. Which is not sexy and not cool and this struggle is really, really difficult, because I can't keep hiding from myself what a jackass I am.