I Am an Emotional Creature by Eve Ensler

I wish my mother wouldn’t say anything

  Know your vagina

  It’s yours

  Ask questions

  Practice abstinence

  Get birth control

  It can take you over

  You can catch dirty things

  Bleeding makes you want it

  Bleeding is the beginning

  It can ruin you

  Consume you

  Masturbating is important

  Masturbating is illegal

  Sex is only about love

  Sex is another sport like gymnastics

  It makes you lose weight

  360 calories an hour.

  I DANCE (I)

  Heart

  Beat

  Sound

  Move

  Make

  Shake

  Body

  Want

  Girl

  Hips

  Girl

  Feet

  Girl

  Ground

  Girl moving now

  I dance to disappear

  I dance to know I’m here

  I dance ’cause I’m horny

  ’Cause it’s holy

  ’Cause I want to forget

  I dance ’cause I’m pissed off

  I dance ’cause I can’t

  study anymore

  I dance ’cause it’s better

  than sexting

  R u naked?

  What r u doing with ur hands?

  I dance because everything is possible

  I dance ’cause it gets me high

  ’Cause it’s the one thing

  you can’t take away

  I dance ’cause it keeps me

  separate

  from everyone else’s

  opinions and ideas

  I dance ’cause I’m

  bleeding

  bleeding

  becoming

  I dance ’cause I can touch

  the music

  in the discos of Reykjavik

  Mumbai, Manhattan, Barcelona

  I dance till my mascara

  runs down my chin

  I dance to the drums of the forest and rivers

  I dance to the beat of the cicadas

  I dance to the traffic

  to the crowds

  to the silence

  I dance to the end of unkindness

  I dance past the killing fields

  I dance past Wounded Knee

  I dance past the skeletons and bones

  I dance past slave branding

  and Holocaust tattoos

  I dance past inflicted identities

  and demeaning looks

  I dance past the limited determinations of my

  abilities and worth

  I dance past your lustful eyes

  Your dirty interpretations of my teenage body

  I shake off the burqas and bindings

  and corsets and diets

  I shake off restrictions and illegitimate rules

  I shake off your suffocating warnings

  I dance to the heartbeat of life

  I dance because girls are the ultimate survivors

  Section II

  I BUILD IT WITH STONE

  I make altars everywhere

  I wear 16 bracelets on my arm

  I write your name in red felt tip pen on my pillowcase

  I wallpaper your posters above my bed

  I engrave your initials on my closet door

  I get to the stable 2 hours early so

  I can brush your brown shiny coat 125 times

  I run 6 more miles without stopping

  I only wear sky-blue socks

  I practice chords until my fingers cannot bend

  I tattoo 56 stars on the right side of my face

  I fast for Ramadan

  I hand out every flyer for peace in Sudan

  I memorize Hebrew

  I memorize for the open slam

  I collect 100 glass horses

  I chant my mantra at dawn

  I don’t step on the cracks

  I don’t eat meat

  I hold my breath when the light is red

  I stay awake for 3 days

  I learn anorexia

  I do jump shots for 7 hours

  I compulsively practice Latin

  Latine loqui coactus sum

  I read every poem

  I recite every word

  I watch every film

  I know your every move

  I play your video and I memorize every step you make

  I receive your tweets

  I know your pain

  I sing your songs

  I make you presents out of twigs and shells and feathers

  I put them at the foot of the stage

  I scream when the lights come up

  I call you and hang up 7 times

  I know you can see my ID number

  I am searching

  for mother

  for answers

  for a reason

  for tomorrow

  for God

  for Allah

  for more

  for less

  for my teacher Mrs. Martin

  for everything

  for nothing

  I bow down

  I pierce

  I starve

  I smoke marijuana

  I go to church

  I sing louder

  I call your name

  I stay in the water

  I cut off my hair

  I grow it long

  I get on my knees

  I build it with stone

  Devoted.

  GIRL FACTS

  When a group of children who were interviewed on 20/20 were asked if they’d rather be fat or lose an arm, they unanimously answered that they’d rather lose an arm.

  The mortality rate associated with anorexia nervosa is twelve times as high as the death rate of all causes of death for females aged fifteen to twenty-four.

  hunger blog

  BLOG 1

  i don’t really like celery. tastes like disappointment. egg whites taste like baby skin. learning to graze. used to watch cows. they move their mouth around the grass. hover, hang, munch a little, rest. don’t swallow too much.

  BLOG 2

  everyone’s mad at me. here’s a picture of my hips. bone jutting. love those two words: bone jutting. just right for jeans. sade, sexy music, and espresso help a lot. perfect combo. slow music and caffeine annihilate hunger.

  BLOG 3

  bad taste in my mouth. this girl jewel said i was sick in gym class. she’s jealous. last night i ate cooked vegetables naked in front of the mirror. it grossed me out so much i haven’t been hungry for almost 24 hrs.

  BLOG 4

  everything sucks. had to stay home from school. too tired. dad gave me a big lecture. said i wasn’t fooling anyone. tried to exercise. only got through a hundred sit-ups. watched tv. saw this program about hundreds of people in Africa forced to leave their land ’cause of war. they were drinking dirty water. everyone was so hungry and sick. my mother was crying. she said i look just like them. she made me soup. wanted to share it with the people on tv. i like soup.

  BLOG 5

  can’t stop crying. disgust myself. family forced me to eat a meal ’cause it’s christmas eve. now i’m gross. putrid. foul. holidays make me so sad. we’re not happy like everyone else. always feel there is something i should be doing, somewhere i should be going. don’t know where that is. maybe santa claus will leave me diet pills under the tree. had christmas nightmares. dreamed my family was making me eat reindeer meat. there were sad antlers on my plate. 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.

  BLOG 6

  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.

  BLOG 7

  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.

  BLOG 8

  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.

  BLOG 9

  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 even say 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 succeeded at killing my nose. Murdering it.

  On my sixteenth birthday they paid a man to take my nose out. They hired a hit man to take my poor nose down. The only problem is that my nose was attached to me.

  I didn’t even know what was happening. They kept telling me I would be happy and everything would be better and I would thank them for it because my life would be so much easier. I thought they were taking me to Paradise Chang restaurant. I thought we were going to have my favorite Chinese food. Then we were at this little hospital clinic place. I didn’t understand. There was a doctor who oddly had a big nose himself. He told me it was a really simple procedure. My mother looked guilty, but she kept making herself smile. Then the doctor drugged me. I don’t remember anything. When I woke up I was so nauseous and they were all hovering strangely over me and I could tell something terrible had happened. I started vomiting flesh and bone and blood. My nose was coming out all over me, ruined hammered destroyed. I was crying and I didn’t even really know how to cry without a nose. And my father took my hand and said, “You will be a princess now,” and I said, “I don’t want to be a princess. I was happy being a clown. My nose protruded but it gave me history and mystery. It made me what I was. There is nothing now. Just this stupid mess in the middle of my face. I was once Mesopotamia and now I’m a mall.”

  I know this is hard to believe but I never dreamed of being pretty. I felt sorry for the pretty girls ’cause everyone was always staring at them. They never really talked or did anything. They were just there, like … pretty. Goldfish in a bowl. Just swimmering around, being looked at. Occasionally nibbling at the fish food, but nibbling ’cause we all know skinny is the same as pretty. That’s the thing about being pretty. There are so many things you have to not do to be pretty. I mean it becomes your life. Not doing things. I stay pretty. I do pretty. I don’t eat. I pick. I circle. I visit. I deprive. I starve. Because I do not eat, I do not have much energy. Food actually makes your brain function. So pretty people move slower. They can’t do too much. They do not have very expansive thoughts. But then again, they don’t need to. They’re pretty.

  Funny people can eat all they want. I used to love food. You can enjoy it ’cause funny people enjoy everything.

  Pretty people mainly hang out with other pretty people. That’s sort of what they do. Then it’s all about who is prettier. Your whole life becomes about being the prettiest.

  I miss my nose. Every day I rub it and dream of telling lies like Pinocchio so it will grow back. I went on this secret date with a boy who told me I was pretty. I’m not really. He thought I was being coy. I wasn’t born pretty. I’m not naturally pretty. I’m fake pretty. He didn’t understand and so he kissed me ’cause that’s what boys do when they don’t know something and don’t want to look stupid. When he kissed me there was nothing in the way. It was too easy. I didn’t even have to make a joke about it. And that was sad ’cause the joke about my nose always made the guy laugh and then we both relaxed and kissing was always so much better then.

  WOULD YOU RATHER (II)

  GIRL 1

  Would you rather get caught stealing or cheating? Would you rather ask him to put on a condom or give him oral sex?

  GIRL 2

  I don’t want to play this.

  GIRL 1

  Would you rather lose your mother or your father? Be in a tsunami or an earthquake? Be buried alive or freeze to death?

  GIRL 2

  I’m going to sleep.

  GIRL 1

  Why won’t you ever play?

  (Silence)

  It’s just a game.

  (Silence)

  You’re no fun.

  GIRL FACT

  About one in three high school students have been or will be involved in an abusive relationship. Forty percent of teenage girls ages fourteen to seventeen say they know someone their age who has been hit or beaten by a boyfriend.

  Dear Rihanna,

  I used to really respect you. I even got your haircut, all cute and straight shaggy shaped even though I have blonde hair. It looks better on you. I thought you were a caring and compassionate girl singer artist so I just don’t understand why you were so mean to Chris. I see the way he looks at you. He just loves you too much. You know that. How could you dump him after one bad thing? It’s so shallow to drop someone after they mess up. You have everything, Rihanna. You’re perfect pretty and mega talented and sparkly and shiny. It must be hard for Chris to be with you. I mean I’m jealous of you and you’re not even my girlfriend. Everyone wants you. Everyone wants to b
e you. In his apology video Chris seemed so nervous and sad. People say he was just reading his lines, but they were heartfelt. He was so scared about screwing up. He was so sad. I could tell. That’s what happens after. I mean they feel so bad. They don’t have anyone to help them. They don’t know how to talk. I mean I can tell he wants to cry. Take him back. He loves you too much, but at least he loves you. One mistake you can’t just fire him. What if he did that to you? Chris made you a video and put it out in front of the whole world. That’s a lot to do in front of his friends and stuff. My boyfriend, Brad, didn’t make me a video. I mean once he brought me this bracelet with a silver heart after he made my lip bleed. But he’s never been as nice as Chris. My mother hates him. Brad, that is. She just doesn’t know him. She judges him by one aspect of his personality but that’s only a part of who he is. I heard Oprah say if a boy hits you once, leave ‘em right then, but that’s so cold, so mechanical. Like push boy delete.

  I don’t know about you, but I’m not perfect. I’m naggy and I complain, well that’s what Brad tells me. I make him feel bad. I mean you shoved Chris and threw away his keys. That’s serious for a boy. A guy’s keys are like his self. I know if I did that I would be expecting a confrontation and you really shouldn’t dish it out if you can’t take it. We’re all part of this. You can’t even really say where it begins or ends. It’s like my parents’ arguments. They feel like they’ve been going on since I was born and they basically are always pissed off about the same things and she makes him feel so bad about himself and then he gets ugly. And sometimes he hurts her and then she gets meaner and we all just go to our rooms and pretend we don’t hear, but really we’re all part of it. I mean sometimes it’s one of us that makes them start arguing. Usually me. My dad says someone’s always asking for it.

  Chris loves you. Just like Brad loves me. He knows me better than anyone. It’s just sometimes this thing goes off in them. It’s like all the hurt they feel and all the bad things they’ve seen and all the ways they couldn’t help. I mean Chris used to wet his bed after his stepdad hit his mother. What are we gonna do, throw all the boys away? Put them forever on some punishment island? Then how are we gonna have babies? And who’s gonna kiss us? They’re all crazy sad you know. I can tell even when Brad slaps me sometimes. It doesn’t hurt as much as seeing how alone he is and confused and sad. My dad has that same sadness and it makes me smoke when I think about it. It really rips me apart. Brad isn’t buying your music anymore. He said if you were his girlfriend he would have to keep you locked up in his room. He couldn’t bear everyone staring at you and dreaming about you. That made me a little jealous. I mean he doesn’t let me out much and if I talk to another boy he gets real crazy, but the way he talked about you was different. Like he really had it for you. So imagine what poor Chris feels with so many guys everywhere having it for you. How is some guy gonna handle that? Most of the time they can’t even find a good job. Well, Chris had one. But most guys my age are tripping about what they’re gonna do. You’re so strong, Rihanna. I watch you in the videos. Your arms and the way you move and your confidence. You look right into the camera. You are so much stronger. You could help Chris. Otherwise how are these boys gonna keep up? It’s like when we’re on the lake and I look at the water behind our motorboat and there’s this wake and it stays there after the boat has passed. There’s just these light waves of where something was once. It fills me with dread and makes me really scared. Sometimes I stop breathing. It’s like none of us were ever really here at all. I don’t want to be looking back on Brad like that. He’s the one real thing.