The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid sleepy voice.
“Who are you? ” said the Caterpillar. This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, “I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.”
“What do you mean by that?” said the Caterpillar sternly. “Explain yourself!”
“I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir,” said Alice, “because I’m not myself, you see.”
“I don’t see,” said the Caterpillar.
“I’m afraid I can’t put it more clearly,” Alice replied very politely, “for I can’t understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.”
“It isn’t,” said the Caterpillar.
“Well, perhaps you haven’t found it so yet,” said Alice; “but when you have to turn into a chrysalis—you will some day, you know—and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you’ll feel it a little queer, won’t you?”
“Not a bit,” said the Caterpillar.
“Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,” said Alice; “all I know is, it would feel very queer to me.”
“You!” said the Caterpillar contemptuously. “Who are you?”
I have considered speaking to someone. To tell them about my state of mind and body, and to ask them to help guide me back a few steps. But i cannot. How would i begin? How could i explain something to someone else, when i cannot even explain it to myself? “because I’m not myself, you see.” I have gone over conversations in my head, and no matter how i word it, it is always horrible.
"But why? How could you let this happen? You have always been skinny. You don't need to lose weight. It's stupid, and ridiculous, and selfish and vain and now you have burdened us with your silly, petty troubles, and we don't want them and we don't like you anymore!!"
No - it is too much to tell someone else. Maybe i will wait until i can sort things out myself a bit first. I feel that (to others) the smaller the number i present them with, the more it will hurt. I will get there on my own - after all, butterflies do.
First, however, she waited for a few minutes to see if she was going to shrink any further: she felt a little nervous about this; “for it might end, you know,” said Alice to herself, “in my going out altogether, like a candle. I wonder what I should be like then?” And she tried to fancy what the flame of a candle is like after it is blown out, for she could not remember ever having seen such a thing.
