Staring at the blank page...

[Cara-Jean Kitchi]

CARA-JEAN ALYSSA KITCHI
•••

pen in my hand
e n d i n g u n p l a n n e d

•••	first entry	live to obey
•••	second entry	another suitcase in another hall
•••	third entry	only an actress would pretend
•••	fourth entry	she is a diamond
•••	fifth entry	oh what a circus
•••	sixth entry	lament
•••	seventh entry	hello and goodbye
•••	eighth entry	goodnight and thank you
•••	ninth entry	three can keep a secret
•••	tenth entry	imagination vs. knowledge
•••	eleventh entry	so what happens now?
•••	twelfth entry	slowly breaking down
•••	thirteenth entry	i abhor violence
•••	fourteenth entry	to dwell on what has been

the rest is
s t i l l u n w r i t t e n

•••
TEMPLATE courtesy of ALASKA <3 at CAUTION 2.0
SONG LYRICS from UNWRITTEN by NATASHA BETTINGFIELD
do not r e m o v e this credit

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b e f o r e [i]you[/i]

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[div align="right"][font face="Inkpen2"][font size="6"][font color="#9a79a9"]today is where your[/font][/font][/font]
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the rest is still
[font face="Inkpen2"]u n w r i t t e n[/font][/div]

[Cara-Jean Kitchi]

live to obey
•••

staring at the blank page
b e f o r e you

first entry

My psychiatrist once told me to write down who I think I am. I obey everything I am asked to do (as long as it will not harm another living creature), I can not lie to another adult, I am terrified of what might happen if I do the wrong thing. I did as I was told, but never showed it to him.

Here is what I wrote:

Inside Cara.

On the outside, you will see me dressed up to the nines. I ride dressed as though I am about to enter a show ring. Out of the saddle if I am not training in another of the many sports I participate in, I am dressed as though I am about to go on a job interview. I can be passed off by other people as a snob because I walk with a straight back, shoulders down and back and head held just so, this is also due to my English accent - which comes from being in England for so long.

Is this me though?

I wear what I wear because it is what is expected of me, and because it is all I own. My life was mapped out for me by my father, but other than what was on the will, other people have made decisions on my behalf. I was trained at an early age to obey - one might say I had it beaten in to me (literally).

My first sport lesson - gymnastics - started pretty much as soon as I went into foster care, ballet shortly followed by equestrian and then skating. I took all of these under my wing, and I excelled in all of them. Later in life, I learned to relish in the fact that my coaching sessions got me out of the houses I was staying in for a little longer.

School was a little difficult at first, as I could remember everything, and it wasn't until I began to do my own study that I found out that I had what people would call a photographic memory. I can quote books, right down to line, paragraph and page number. School became easy after that, I got through the work fast enough that I could put more time into my sports. The sad part about my memory. I can remember everything that I want to forget and nothing I want to remember. I can bring up the face of every man who has laid a hand on me, but I can't even bring up a shadow of what my parents looked like.

Working with horses became the one brightness in my life. They were the ones I could trust with everything. I could tell them everything that was happening and they would keep my secrets. Not only that, but they never looked down on my mixed breeding, the way most humans do (especially those I share my blood with).

Over time, I built a wall around myself. Emotions give people power over you, the more emotion, the more power the other person seems to have. I haven't shed a tear since before I started my schooling career, I don't smile unless I'm riding a horse, talking to a much smaller child or doing one of my other sports - and only then if I really get lost in what I'm doing, or one of the show smiles that all athletes are known for. The closest I get to emotion is the odd frown people say I give when deep in thought.

I may seem calm and confident to all of you. On the inside, I am terrified. I am always waiting for it all to hit the fan.

Do I trust you? I don't even trust myself.

The eyes are the window to the soul You will never see inside mine.

If only I could light a match to this...

χ Cara-Jean

today is where your
b o o k b e g i n s

•••
the rest is still
u n w r i t t e n

[Cara-Jean Kitchi]

another suitcase

in another hall
•••

staring at the blank page
b e f o r e you

second entry

During my time in the system (the foster system, not the criminal one), I have seen other children get to that point where their will to live snaps, I've been there before, and after living with Mr Andrews and his 'friends' at a polo ranch in Colorado for close to two months, I almost reached that point. Sure, I was kept busy with mucking stalls, grooming and saddling horses, along with other things, I was on the edge of the precipice, about to take the leap and he gave me a bit of news that forced me to step back; I had been accepted into a school a couple of states away. I've spent ninety percent of my schooling career in boarding schools so this will be nothing new (and it now made sense on why I had been pulled out of St Mary's when I had been doing so well on their sports teams.

After a two day drive, Mr Andrews insisted on spending a night in Missouri, we finally arrived at our destination. Now, after so many English boarding schools, I will admit that my first site of Blue Ridge Academy was impressive. Where I was used to old stone buildings, this was like it's own little town.

Why is it, around other people, Mr Andrews is charm intensified - even toward me? Ignore that, I don't want to know. After checking in - well, 'he' checked me in, and I stood there without saying a word - I was taken to my dorm. It is a mansion! I was left alone at this point and went up the stairs to unpack. The room is really nice, and it seems that once again I will be living solo, but there's plenty of room for all my things (cause I have so much of them, not)... Now I need to get changed and go and meet with the barn manager of one of the barns and be assigned a pony. At four feet and ten and a half (can't forget the half) inches, there's no way I'll get a horse.

I sit here though and wonder when the truth of why I'm here is going to come out, as I know that I'm not here for my own well-being. Everything is done for the benefit of Mr Tony Andrews, my well-being don't even come into it. Sure, I'm being negative, but I know that there are no happily ever afters, not in my life anyway.

χCara-Jean

today is where your
b o o k b e g i n s

•••
the rest is still
u n w r i t t e n

[Cara-Jean Kitchi]

only an actress

would pretend
•••

staring at the blank page
b e f o r e you

third entry

The pony I have been assigned is a challenge, but I have never been known to turn one down before. She's a lovely horse, she just has her quirks that make her... well her.

Upon Mr Andrews command, I signed myself and Kit up for our first show. And, as first shows on a challenging pony go, we picked up a third, fourth and fifth, not exactly the results that were expected of me and I knew that I would be punished for it. However, his need for me to be able to perform to the best of my ability in gymnastics may have made him hold back, which I am greatful for, though I am still in a bit of pain, but enough about that as I do not wish to dwell in the dark places that I can't get out of my head anyway.

Back to the challenge known as Kit, or Luna Eclipse as she is registered as. She is a beautiful grey, Welara (which is a Welsh, Arabian) Pony. She's an all-around pony, so she can be ridden in all aspects of English riding, I juat have yet to find out which one make her shine the most. She's a quick study though and also very intuitive of her rider, which has proved to be an issue a couple of times in the arena. First was when another student and her service dog joined us in the outdoor arena. And then in the indoor arena when I had set up a small course of jumps for her. Of course, both times it was my own fault, though this hasn't helped me work out what sets her off, other than a rider who's not at the top of her game, she does do beautiful airs above the ground though, so when we get a moment to ourselves, I might just see what level dressage she has been taught.

χCara-Jean

today is where your
b o o k b e g i n s

•••
the rest is still
u n w r i t t e n

[Cara-Jean Kitchi]

she is a diamond
•••

staring at the blank page
b e f o r e you

fourth entry

Things on campus have been going well, classes have started up, though I am in some classes that I would never have chosen for myself, though I did change one of my classes.

Things off campus? Yeah, I really don't want to go there. My meetings with Mr Andrews are the same as they have always been. He talks, I listen, I obey. I am trying my hardest to be the person he wants me to be, but I don't think that person is the person I want to be, I want to learn who I am meant to be.

On a good note though, I decided to go through with my idea of working Kit through a dressage routine. I found an FEI freestyle test for pony riders and then found some music and went through the steps. Other than her throwing a slight fit at not being able to shoulder-in when I wanted her to half-pass, Kit worked through the test really well, and even though it was her first time working to music, she really seemed to get into the music by the end of it. Sure, people think I don't have an imagination, though, I can picture Kit in a tutu dancing ballet on her hind legs. Pretty immature I know, but I am only thirteen, why do I always have to act like an adult?

The only dark point of our routine (since it wasn't exactly a 'test') was at the end, when I discovered that we were being watched. I was going to try the routine again but I reacted when my eyes met those of the man watching us, and because Kit is so in-tune with my emotions she spooked when I did and skittered backwards. I ended up dropping the remote for the stereo I had the music playing on, and Kit stepped on it, smashing it into a million pieces - I don't care about the remote but I was worried she might have a bit of the plastic embedded into the sole of her foot, but nothing like that happened.

That's about everything for now.

χ Cara-Jean

today is where your
b o o k b e g i n s

•••
the rest is still
u n w r i t t e n

[Cara-Jean Kitchi]

oh what a circus
•••

staring at the blank page
b e f o r e you

fifth entry

Our gymnastic coach is what some would call task-driven. When he has a plan in his head, there seems to be nothing that can shift his focus, and this comes out when we are training.

Out of the coaches I have had in the past, I wouldn’t say he is the strictest; he will have us working on our hardest tricks and will pull us up if we aren’t working to the best of our ability, but he doesn’t push us beyond what we can do. This is a double bladed sword though; as how can one become better if we aren’t challenged to do what we think we can’t? Yes, I am sounding slightly pessimistic, but I don’t do gymnastics to be average, I do it to be the best that I can. Ok, now I read that I sound cocky, but am I not allowed to brag even to myself? I do have a lot of respect for Coach Hoefflin though, as none of have been hurt… yet (it’s gymnastics, there’s always a yet).

I am not the only elite on our team, and to keep our elite status, we need to keep competing. This means that we miss a bit of school so that we have time to travel, but I always make sure to keep my school work up, and I will always ask for the work that I will miss so that I can do that while we are away; it is times like this that I can understand why gymnasts are home-schooled.

There are times when life feels like it is no more than a circus; sometimes I am the trapeze artist and other times I am sure that I am the clown about to be fired from cannon and into the lions’ den… I am sure that I am headed to the den more than I am to preform to the crowd. Then there are times when both seem to meld into each other and it is the lions that I am dancing for. I just need to make sure that the dance is done right so that I can stay alive.

χCara-Jean

today is where your
b o o k b e g i n s

•••
the rest is still
u n w r i t t e n

[Cara-Jean Kitchi]

lament
•••

staring at the blank page
b e f o r e you

sixth entry

Lament comes from the French word ‘lamenter’ or Latin ‘lamentari’, from ‘lamenta’ (plural) for ‘weeping, wailing’.

Emotions have always been difficult for me. It’s not that I don’t know what they are or how to show them; it just that I found it was better to hide mine from the world. People feed off another person’s emotion, I found that some people seemed to gain power from it, so I learned deny them that power over me. At times it does set me aside from others, though it doesn’t make me stronger than others. I wear a mask of impassiveness that others mistake as strength to hide cowardice.

The main problem of hiding my emotions from others, it seems that I have managed to hide them from myself. There are some nights when I feel that I should be curled up weeping on my bed, but I haven’t shed a tear in years… crying while throwing up doesn’t count… and I don’t even think that I could cry should I need to. And if I did, would I be able to just turn it off again for when I am at the hands of Mr Andrews. I refuse to allow myself to cry in front of him now that I am older – yes, big words, reality can be completely different.

I will leave you with a quote by Allan Hamilton; “I call horses 'divine mirrors' - they reflect back the emotions you put in. If you put in love and respect and kindness and curiosity, the horse will return that.”

χCara-Jean

today is where your
b o o k b e g i n s

•••
the rest is still
u n w r i t t e n

[Cara-Jean Kitchi]

hello and
goodbye
•••

staring at the blank page
b e f o r e you

seventh entry

It seems that I have been saying hello and good bye all of my life. No sooner do I get settled in somewhere and it is time for me to leave and begin again somewhere else. I am enjoying living in the United States, but it is no England, and even though I was born in California (somewhere it will day I am a citizen of the USA), but England is home.

I remember all the people I have met, some have embedded themselves more into my memory than others, and I do not wish to think of that reason though; and contrary to what some believe it is not only men who have made themselves known in my life.

Aside from the people though, it is the ponies I have both enjoyed meeting and hated leaving. While I’ve had great instructors; the ponies that have been the best teachers, no matter how much a person can tell me to do something, my mount is the one who teaches me how to execute the movement properly, how to ask the right way and how not to. They are great critics and are quick to correct when I ask something the wrong way – though I will admit that some are quicker to correct than others and if asked the wrong way a second time, there is a very near chance of eating dirt.

My biggest problem here is that I don’t know who is genuine with what they say and who could be working for Mr Andrews, if anyone actually is. I seem to be running into a male student here quite a bit named Martijn, though I have to examine what I really think of him. I do know that he wants to drive again, but I need to find a way to convince him that it would be the best thing for him to do…

χCara-Jean

today is where your
b o o k b e g i n s

•••
the rest is still
u n w r i t t e n

[Cara-Jean Kitchi]

goodnight and
thank you
•••

staring at the blank page
b e f o r e you

eighth entry

Joseph Conrad – a Polish author – said; “The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary. Men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.” These words are closer to the truth than any person would like to think, in fact they remind me of another quote by Mark Twain, but that can wait until another time.

It is hard to believe that I have now been in Blue Ridge for a year. It means I have lived through another year of school, I know another year’s worth of knowledge and I am a year closer to being free. That is all my life consist of, is that one step closer to my eighteenth birthday, when the court will deem me an adult and able to care for myself. It’s funny to think that at eighteen I will be thought of as an adult, by law, yet I have never really been a child. That childish innocence that I often hear people speak of was stolen from me years ago.

I always wait for the approaching holidays with baited breath, as I never know if I will remain on campus, or if Mr Andrews will feel that it is better for me to attend to a family while school is not in session; a simple matter of trading one form of training just to work on another. As I never left campus, it seemed that I am to remain here for the summer months; thus to allow me to keep up with my gymnastics and equestrian pursuits. However, as it now seems, it is also to keep my close to Mr Andrews, to have me at his every beck and call, if you will.

There is a school rule that says students may not be off campus after dusk, the only problem with the rule is that we can leave campus if with a legal guardian; and it seems that my court appointed social worker will use this to his advantage; he doesn’t like returning my to campus until all is dark and quiet.

I am fighting with myself as I write this, as I know that I shouldn’t be doing it; though this is an argument I have had with myself since I started keeping journals many years ago. I know that if anyone ever discovered the false bottom on my tack trunk, I would be lucky to see the light of day. Sorry, I digress.

My “sessions” with Mr Andrews have never really been what people would call “normal”. The things said and done were not something that one would bring up in conversation with another person – other than the fact that I have been forbade from speaking of what happens to anyone else – but the last one was the… hardest to walk away from, without a better way of describing it. Every part of my body ached, though I do not think he was any harder on me than he normally is; and I know that whatever happens I bring on myself so I have no one to blame for my pain but myself. It seems that no matter what I do, I am always met with his disproval.

Oh diary, how am I supposed to attend riding lessons?

It was black as pitch when I was released at the end of the drive way, in need of solitude; I broke probably a dozen rules and slipped into the barn and then crept down to Ember’s stall and hid in the corner. Just to give myself a chance to refocus my equilibrium, I could feel the welts on my back every time I moved, though I knew that I needed to push it all to the back of my mind so that I can leave the stall for gymnastics.

Be obedient, but don’t disobey me. Tell only the truth, but speak nothing of what happens here. I care about you, but I can and will hurt you if I feel fit.

I want the world to stop for just a while. I want to banish the memories I don’t want to remember. I want to stop remembering things in minute detail whenever I see something that triggers a memory. I want to be able to cry when I am upset. I want things to be different, but I want others to stay the same. I want to be like any other fourteen year old teenager; I want to go shopping with my friends, I want to sit around and gossip, I want to be able to fall in love. But it doesn’t matter what I want, my life is controlled by a man named Tony Andrews.

I need to head to the studio. I will leave you with one more quote:
Mark Twain wrote; “Of all the animals, man is the only one that is cruel. He is the only one that inflicts pain for the pleasure of doing it.”

χ Cara-Jean

today is where your
b o o k b e g i n s

•••
the rest is still
u n w r i t t e n

[Cara-Jean Kitchi]

three can keep
a secret

•••

staring at the blank page
b e f o r e you

ninth entry

“Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead.” Benjamin Franklin.

I know the quote is a little morbid, but that is how I truly feel. What I didn’t tell you the last time I wrote is that my choice in hiding spaces involved someone else into what I live in.

Yes, I said that I hid in the barn, what I failed to mention was that I fell asleep in the stall and was awoken when the barn-hands were handing out the feeds. It was only by the grace of the stars that it was Martijn that came upon Ember’s stall with her breakfast and found my form on the floor of the stall. He also helped me leave the barn undetected.

Because of my current… situation, he ended up carrying me to my room and then I found myself cornered as he wanted answers. He was very gentle about the way he asked, but there was no doubt that he wasn’t leaving my room – even though him even being on the female floor was beyond all rules – so I knew that I would at least need to appease him with enough information to get him to leave (it also didn’t help my case that when he’d set me down, his hands had come away red). I told him a little of what happened to me before he had come upon me in the stall, and begged that he no repeat what I had said. It is not my life that I fear for, but his, as I know that nothing would stop Mr Andrews should he feel that someone was going to get between him and what he felt was his by right.

Since then, classes have started and it seems that we share a few of them and there is something almost, terrifyingly, comforting about the fact that Martijn chooses to sit beside me, it is as though he is trying, in his own way, to protect me from the rest of the world. I do not know why I find such comfort from his presence, something I will need to think strongly about at a later date, though that feeling of peace when he is near is there, and I cannot deny that it is there. Along with the comfort though, also comes the apprehension. I’m damaged goods, how long will it be before I hurt him too? Everything I touch turns to ash, look at what I did to my parents.

I need to go, as I have been summoned to the principal’s office, and I do not wish to be late.

χ Cara-Jean

today is where your
b o o k b e g i n s

•••
the rest is still
u n w r i t t e n

[Cara-Jean Kitchi]

imagination
vs.
knowledge
•••

staring at the blank page
b e f o r e you

tenth entry

Einstein once said, “Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited; imagination encircles the world.” The quote seems to suit how I am feeling right now. I have the knowledge, yet I have no imagination. If imagination encircles the world, does that mean that I am that conceited and think the world revolves around me? Or that my world is so small, there is no room for imagination to exist?

In English Literature, Mr Stone gave us an assignment to write a story based on a picture of one of the many pathways that were in the booklet he had placed on our desks. I found a pathway I liked easily enough, though coming up with a story wasn’t as easy to do. It seems that I lack any form of creative thought and when I look at the picture that is all I can see. I don’t look at it and see some other world come to life; I look at it and see a beautiful photo of nature.

"The petals were dropped from the queen of nature, a deer-like creature whose antlers flower with the seasons. The fact that they're falling so early in the spring bodes trouble. The main character is a hero, looking to help the queen restore nature to full health. What they don't know yet is that it's because something important was captured and held by the villains, so once she learns that, she'll want to go and free it. It's set in an alternate universe, where nature has physical forms that can talk to humans."

The above was offered to me by Martijn, so at least it gives me something to work with, but I still can’t see it!

My story has to be 1,000 – 7,500 words long, and Mr Stone wants us to at least have an outline of the story when we walk into our next class. Outline? I don’t even have an idea of where to start! Yes, Martijn gave me wonderful ideas, but I will still need to expand on them and come up with something.

She fastened the cloak around her neck, clipping the pin – that was the shape of a trefoil leaf – into place. She knew that this was the moment that her Don had told her of. Now was the time when the very Queen of Nature was in need of her assistance. The only problem was that she did not know the how or why of it, she just knew that the seasons were amiss, and she needed to seek out the Queen and discover what was needed of her…

Okay, maybe not an outline, but it could be the start of something, all eighty-eight words of it, and only another nine hundred and twelve words (at least) to go.

So… the main character is female (with no name), no idea how old she is, but she is following the instructions of a nameless (and faceless) teacher… oh yeah, main character is also faceless, she has no history, no family, nothing that makes her unique. I guess if I had more free time, I guess this wouldn’t be so hard, as I would have had time to read a little more, on the fiction side of things, and the books we read in class really are not done so for the enjoyment of reading, but to fulfil a curriculum requirement, so they don’t offer any inspiration.

I shan’t give up yet though, I am sure that I will be able to finish the assignment. After all, failure is not an option, and I shall not start now.

”Most of the important things in the world have been accomplished by people who have kept on trying when there seemed to be no hope at all” Dale Carnegie.

χ Cara-Jean

today is where your
b o o k b e g i n s

•••
the rest is still
u n w r i t t e n

[Cara-Jean Kitchi]

so what happens now?
•••

staring at the blank page
b e f o r e you

eleventh entry

Mahatma Gandhi once said “All through history, there have been tyrants and murderers, and for a time they can seem invincible, but in the end they always fall, always.” I hold my breath as I write this, for I fear that if I release it, I shall find that I will awaken and find that the last while has been but a dream that my imagination has created and I will find that the monster that has controlled every step of my life for over the last decade is truly as invincible as he has made me believe.

It seems that from the moment I stepped into Ms Hart’s office, my life screamed to a standstill. Yes, everyone around me went on with their lives, and I have been through the motions of each day myself, but none of it actually happened to me. When talking to the officers, I tried my best to follow the script I have been following since the day I could talk, but they weren’t buying what I said, and no matter how often I told them I was fine, they wanted to know more. In the end, the only thing I could do to remain above the wave that threatened to drown me, was to tell them what they wanted to know… I only told them what they wanted from the present though, I was careful not to actually tell them how far back it went.

The one office meeting then turned to even more “meetings”, though the word now had a completely different context from what I am used to. Though they quickly worked out that once I wouldn’t speak any more, nothing to make me say more, and I wouldn’t speak to any of the therapists they sat me with. I have spoken to therapists in the past, and don’t trust them.

I constantly throw up now, anything can set me off; a thought, a sound, even a smell. And after training Coach Hoefflin pulled me aside and warned me that if my weight drops any further, I will be off the competition team. This news should have shattered me, but I am unsure of how to process it with everything else that is happening. It is not as though I has lost the weight intentionally.

Then the court case started. I sat in a box and it was like they had my journal in their hands and were commanding me to read out my every private thought to a room full of strangers, and to him. I felt so weak sitting there, like a bug under a microscope as my every word was dissected and inspected from every angle, and I could do nothing as I was possibly facing the end of everything I knew.

I can’t tell you what happened at the end of the trial, as I was excused from the room before it was over – at the insistence of the woman that is now my social worker – I should have argued for my right to know what was going to happen, but I can’t speak up for myself, I have been “conditioned” (that’s the word they used to describe how I behave) too well. He trained me, the way Pavlov trained the dog, and I don’t even know if I can be retrained (or should be untrained?).

Even after writing all that, I am still afraid that I shall wake to find it all a dream, and the nightmare I live in, shall still be happening around me.

Sir Peter Ustinov said, “Unfortunately, a super abundance of dreams is paid for by a growing potential for nightmares.”

χ Cara-Jean

today is where your
b o o k b e g i n s

•••
the rest is still
u n w r i t t e n

[Cara-Jean Kitchi]

slowly breaking down
•••

staring at the blank page
b e f o r e you

twelfth entry

Queen Elizabeth the first said; “The past cannot be cured.” I am beginning to see the real meaning of the phrase. I’m not as obtuse as many of the people who are part of my life think, or have thought. It may have taken me a while to work it out, but I know I have been shaped throughout my life, and conditioned into what Andrews wants me to be…

I’m good; I’m obedient, though I also know that I’m impersonal. Because of my desire to please the adults around me – trust me, it hurts a heck of a lot less – I often forget that I’m supposed to share my emotions with the people around me. I would like to think that it’s this that has stopped anyone from adopting me, though I know the truth is that Andrews doesn’t didn’t want me adopted. As long as I am in foster care, I am still a pawn in whatever game he had turned my life into. See? Not as dense as some tend to think. I can look outside the box, I can see exactly what is happening to me, I just can’t stop it…

Enough talk of the darkness I must hold within myself. Since the court case, I have been… teamed up with a group of eating disorder specialists, and once they worked out what was wrong with me… It seemed that my throwing up had them a little perplexed about which group I fit into, but they ended up working it out, though as my anxiety has nothing to do with food, I think that had them a little unsettled too, but then I was prescribed something and they moved away from that.

I have to visit them three times a week, which isn’t that hard to do now that Coach has dropped me from the team, something I wish to remedy as quickly as possible, and I attend training every morning – and as many afternoons as I am able – as while not on the team, I will not allow myself to lose condition, as I will be ready to go as soon as I am allowed back on the team.

While my therapist is good at what she is trained in, and she seems to believe that I am on the right track to a full recovery. I still don't know what I'm recovering from, but I'm good at doing what I'm told. I now have a food journal where I need to write down everything I eat and then have it signed off each day, I was told that I didn't need to count calories. In fact I think she would prefer that I didn't. However, I have been a gymnast forever and counting calories is what I do, it's a part of my programming that I just can't get rid of. With the team of medical personal though, I don’t think that there is anything that anyone can do to change what Andrews had conditioned me into. After all, I have been this way for as long as I can remember. Is there any way to change it? And more importantly, do I want to change it? I am who I have always been, who I assume I will always be. Is there so much wrong with me that that too needs to be "fixed"?

While waiting for my appointment yesterday, I was browsing through the books on the shelf in the waiting room and I found a quote by Joseph Campbell that has stuck with me: "Find the place inside where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain." If it is correct, all I need to do is find this joy inside me…

χ Cara-Jean

today is where your
b o o k b e g i n s

•••
the rest is still
u n w r i t t e n

[Cara-Jean Kitchi]

i abhor violence
•••

staring at the blank page
b e f o r e you

thirteenth entry

Gandhi said, “Better to be violent if there’s violence in our hearts than to put on the cloak of non-violence to cover impotence.”

I could not imagine harming another living being; be they human, animal, or insect, so I cannot work out why for so long I have been so acceptable of the fact that that violence is alright when it is directed toward me.

I can only fathom what my parents were like when they looked after her. Were they caring doting parents? Or was I no more than a bother, getting in the way of both of their jobs? I been told that her mother had been driving to take her father his meal the night of the fire that had their lives extinguished in a factory fire. But still, that tells me nothing of how they were toward me.

I care deeply about the welfare of my horses, some would tell you more than I care for myself, but I cannot say I love them. What is love? Can I give it to another without knowingly have felt it myself? In the past people have said they only do they things to be out of love, because the care for me. But how would you show those things by using fear and pain?

I try my best to hide my emotions and feelings from the world, and have done so for so long that I often forget what they are, but I still feel. I may have trouble trying to understand how I feel, but I still feel pain. Do I not bleed when I am cut? Ok, I don’t cry, but that doesn’t make me any less human that any other person.

I am slowly coming to grips with my past, unravelling what happened to me and why, though I think it will be a long time before I fully understand it. Find the logic to why I have been through what I have. Though, as bad as it may have seemed to others; I knew exactly what to expect and when. I just fear that it has become the norm to me and what I may do to compensate.

I finish with this: Gandhi also said, “I object to violence because when it appears to do good, the good is only temporary. The evil it does is permanent.”

χ Cara-Jean

today is where your
b o o k b e g i n s

•••
the rest is still
u n w r i t t e n

[Cara-Jean Kitchi]

to dwell on what has been
•••

staring at the blank page
b e f o r e you

fourteenth entry

I am doing the best I can, though it seems that no matter what I do, someone is always displeased with what I have done. I am not eating enough; if I eat any more I will burst. I am burning too many calories; I live an active life and my metabolism works accordingly. Going by their precious BMI scale, I am now technically a "healthy weight", but it is still not enough. I do not talk enough about my past...

This is the one point where I wish I had the capability to tell my therapists that I do not wish to speak of my past, to anyone; not even myself. While some have the conception that talking about the "horrors" of ones past is the best way to help them move on from it, I disagree. I lived through it once, is that not enough for some people? That they have to make me walk through it allover again in my memory. I remember too much about it as it is, I do not wish for memories that may have blurred over time to return to life in full colour because some adult wishes to know better about what keeps me awake at night.

Classes have completed for another year, and I intend to enjoy my time on campus over the summer. It will give me time to work with both Tex and Pyre; in the arena and in more casual settings. It will also, hopefully, give me some time that I can spend with Martijn too. My... friendship with him is a little muddied in places, in my head completely, though I know that he is the one person that I can trust. Trust? Yes, it is a word that is not oft found in my vocabulary, but with him, it is there. How far it will go? That I do not know yet, but I am willing to see what it flourishes into.

This is becoming a common thing with my entries, but allow me to finish with a quote from an American philosopher, Wayne Dyer: “Your past history and all of your hurts are no longer here in your physical reality. Don’t allow them to be here in your mind, muddying your present moments. Your life is like a play with several acts. Some of the characters who enter have short roles to play, others, much longer. But all are necessary, otherwise they wouldn’t be in the play. Embrace them all, and move on to the next act.”

χ Cara-Jean

today is where your
b o o k b e g i n s

•••
the rest is still
u n w r i t t e n