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A
Fairy Tale I want someone to come along and pull me
out of my shyness and low self esteem. Someone like the Royal Family
and then maybe the world press and then I want to make love to a real
prince and have a pair of small kings and then I want to continue therapy
by breaking the record for appearances on the cover of People magazine
and then I want my marriage to fail because I become more interesting
and real and scintillating than my husband and the pale pallor of his
royal family, which the whole world will perceive and support and then
I want to be able to speak publicly about my suicidal thoughts and eating
disorders and then, instead of having to suffer the stigma and shame
that others do and prove that I meet the diagnostic criteria to qualify
for benefits, I will be received with unanimous sympathy for my courageous
revelation and even more luster will be added to my crown, which I will
then give up and but go on to become the queen of everyone’s heart and
then after the divorce I want to meet another millionaire who will give
me a quarter of a million dollar ring and everyone will feel more sorrow
for me because they will understand how the mentally
ill keep repeating the same self-destructive patterns in their lives.
This time I want him to be in oil or something and have a dashing style
and he will finally bring me happiness, ending my tragic search for
fulfillment. Then I want to die, trying to escape pain or pursue pleasure, maybe in a fashion-suggesting ecstatic abandon,
and I want it to be instantaneous without suffering or foreknowledge.
Then maybe if Mother Teresa would die within a few days of me and then
if maybe an astounding eruption and outpouring of real love for me could,
by contrast, outshadow the proper display of dutiful affection for her
so that people would still somehow know that, while Mother Teresa’s
fire all along was for Jesus, mine was, well -- I was one of them, was
miserable and masturbated even as I waved from the carriage, and then
if the legitimate press and the voice of the people would force the
Royal Family, for the first time in England’s history, to lower the
flag to half mast for a non- royal person and then if all the king’s
horses and all the king’s men would carry my beloved body past a million
mourners and into Westminster Cathedral where everyone would pray for
me and get me straight into heaven without a passport. |