CHAPTER<br >The Wish to Be Saved<br > I am lying alone on the third floor of our house with a bad<br >bout of the flu， trying to keel) my illness from the others. The<br >room feels large and cold， and as the hours t~ass， strangely inhos-<br >[~itable. I begin to remember myself as a little girl， small， vul-<br >nerable， helpless. By the time night falls I am utterly miserable，<br >not so sick with flu as with anxiety. "What am I doing here， so<br >solitary， so unattached， so... floating?" I ask myself. How<br >strange to be so disturbed， cut off from family， from my busy，<br >demanding life . . . disconnected...<br > A break occurs in this stream of thought， and I recognize: I<br >am always alone. Here， without warning， is the truth I spend<br >so much energy avoiding. I hate being alone. I d like to live，<br >marsupialized， within the skin of another. More than air and<br >energy and life itself， what I want is to be safe， warm， taken<br >care of. This， I m startled to find， is nothing new. It has been<br >there， a part of me， for a long time.<br > Since that day spent in bed I ve learned that there are other<br >women like me， thousands upon thousands of us who grew up<br >13<br ><br >