Journal 1

November 1996 - March 1997

November 18, 1996

How do you start a journal? Today… today is not a good day. Youth group scared me last night. It was all about how we’re gonna burn in Hell. I had a disturbing dream that a dog chewed my face off. I’m in Algebra. The perfect time to write my first entry.

I saw a t-shirt in the hall that said, “You can send me to school but you can’t make me think.” What the fuck is wrong with my generation? I believe the opposite: I’ll think but you have no right to send me to school. Everyone here is an idiot. Of course, realistically, if no one goes to school, no one will learn what the government wants us to learn- just life skills and common sense and who needs that? Just because I don’t want to be around a bunch of shallow, boring, conventional, small-minded children doesn’t mean I don’t want to learn. It’s just that if I’m exhausted or sick or depressed, I’m not going to learn anything, anyway. This society is so screwed up. I want to make a difference- a dent, but I’m too young.

November 19, 1996

Isn’t it ironic how everyone in this world is a hypocrite of something? Maybe that’s too exhausting to write about now. My lack of sleep is really taking its toll. My health is deteriorating- migraines, loss of appetite, and congestion that feels like bronchitis. I will now be keeping track of my meals and their fat content. Maybe that is what I’m a hypocrite about. I believe in seeing the inside of people yet I hate my own body. I’m confused, too. I love having company (even if it means nothing to them) but I simply must have my privacy. That’s why I dislike my mother.

She is so damn nosy. If she “finds” a note, it won’t just be sitting open on the counter in the bathroom. It could be hidden between the strings of my piano and taped shut, and she’d still read it. I hate how she goes through my stuff, tells me what to wear, tells me I’m fat. I dread being alone with her because she always wants to “share feelings.” If I wanted her to know how I felt, I would tell her. Then she gets mad and says things like, “Fine! You don’t want to communicate? FINE!” But I AM communicating! As soon as she starts in with that shit, I stare blankly out the window and clamp my mouth shut. I am communicating the message “I don’t want to talk to you.”

And how pretentious of her to think she could handle what is really going on inside of me. If she gets upset that Daddy won’t write her another check to go shopping, how is she possibly going to handle the fact that I constantly, obsessively wish for death? I can barely handle it. Writing is the only way I can share how I feel- it feels safe, and there’s no rush to figure things out. If my mom finds and reads this, I will never talk to her again. It’s none of her fucking business. Oh great, now I’m mad again.

Despite how pessimistic I probably already seem to be, there are many things in life that I enjoy. I love my sense of smell- particularly cologne and the smell of the earth before it rains. I love men- everything about them. I love Shakespeare, animals, good art, sports, poetry, God, iced mocha with a scoop of vanilla ice cream in it instead of ice, and most of all more than anything else, MUSIC. Music is my saving grace in this hell hole.

November 21, 1996

I was at home, sick, yesterday. I am still getting chills and then sweats constantly. Right now I’m freezing. Richie went to Hannah’s. I’m nervous about them because he believes she’s sixteen and goes to beach high school but she’s actually thirteen and stuck in this shit-hole with me. I want to get the sheet music to the “Romeo and Juliet” soundtrack. Not the soundtrack- the score. That’s what I love so much about music. It can be sorrowful, joyful, or whatever you need it to be.

I slept for twelve hours yesterday. You know how, in elementary school, you get ‘sick’ if you’re bored? Maybe that’s what happened to me. The new superintendent has a bunch of innovative rules for us to follow- ruining this school even more. I would home school, except that my mom would be my teacher and I would rather burn out my eyes with cigarette lighters.

I’m tired, bored, agitated, depressed, cold, and empty. And longing. But for what? Adult conversation; intelligent life. I get along better with the teachers here than the students. Boo-hoo. I’m a misunderstood intellectual, sinking deeper into the sea of depression each day. I look forward to the day it will actually drown me instead of holding me in this constant state of suffocation.

The people at church all believe that if you have Jesus in your life, you’ll be happy. Be happy or go to Hell. Hannah is too dumb to grasp how I feel; thank God and no offense to her. Everyone else avoids it or changes the subject, or, better yet, tells me to get over it and just pretend (MOM). Isn’t it funny how humans handle things?

It’s not that I never want to talk about anything. There’s nothing wrong with my life. Nothing bad has ever happened to me. I’ve never even known someone who has died. It’s humiliating to be a defective person. It’s that I recognize that I need to talk about it. Unfortunately, humans are the most fuck-ass stupid creatures on the planet. If we weren’t here, everything would be perfect- the order of things would be maintained effortlessly.

Right now I would like to be in a cool, dark room with a wood floor, a warm throw, and fourteen tall pillar candles (like those in a Catholic church) looking down from the top of a shiny black nine-foot grand. I could jam on it, or sit and stare into the fathomless black without thinking at all. A room with no doors. No windows; just me and the music and the darkness.

November 22, 1996

I wrote a poem last night, inspired by Korn. I didn’t do any work in this class but that’s okay. I’ll do it later or not at all. I don’t care about anything except my privacy and trying not to die by distracting myself with music. The only reason I even show up is so that I can get into the arts high school. At least the people there are respectful of one another. I’m leaving in half an hour to see Man of LaMancha there. Cooper is the star and Ezekiel has a big part in it. I hope Miss Malta throws me off the volleyball team so I can start running after school to get in shape for soccer season. She would think she was punishing me.

November 24, 1996

I wait for Death to claim me. I’ll meet it head-on. I’ll end this boredom, this chaos- meet Death with wonder, happy to at least escape whatever this is. I’m ready to escape the torturer and run into the arms of the coward. I don’t care about anything; fuck it all. I want to fold quietly into the depths of nothingness and melt away from solidity. How does it happen, you think? Are we sucked into life like a timeshare in Boca? The song, the words, the touch, embrace, lingering pain of that which we are missing in life- that which lured us into it and then abandoned us here. Then, the tears come.

November 25, 1996

Today… perilous? I don’t know if I can get through two and a half days of school before Thanksgiving vacation. Now I know why people invented drugs. If even just for five minutes you can get away from the pain, you will accept any consequences because they cannot be worse than what you are hiding from.

Music that mirrors how I feel encourages my depression but music that is happy irritates and alienates me. I wonder why I don’t care about anything. I don’t care about school, friends, the future, my family… nothing at all. All of my days are performances. I pretend I’m happy and people expect me to be so. Wait- maybe there is some confusion about that. Just because you are entertained by someone doesn’t mean that they are happy.

Everyone here is so shallow. Mary was making fun of this kid because his pants weren’t name brand, and then she was ragging on Jaime because he isn’t Catholic. When she was laughing about someone’s watch being a Casio, I told her off. She looked at me like I was crazy. I wasn’t mean, though- just instructive. Everyone is shallow about something. Andrew is shallow about gay people, Larkin is shallow about black people, and I am shallow about stupid people. I’m pretty accepting of others who are different, probably because I’m different.

November 26, 1996

I realized that no one is ever truly free. There are always attachments, taxes, children, money, jobs, payments, gifts, Army drafts, propaganda, and plenty of rules. Maybe I’ll fake my death, then build a house under a new name and plant crops and live supported by myself. Except then I’d waste a chance to die. The question really is not whether or not I can stand to be in society, but whether or not I can stand to be conscious.

In life, it is considered better to suffer through what life gives you, no matter how bad. That seems unfair. All people die anyhow, so why prolong it? I wish Mrs. Stanton would die the fucking bitch. People don’t think. They go to work, do what they’re told, gossip, have fun, have sex- it’s all irrelevant to them. Maybe I think too much. I pray to God every night to shut off my brain so that I can sleep but the thoughts still claw their way in: homicidal clowns, needles, airplanes, suicide, philosophy, interpretation of music, what other people are thinking, what happens when you die, etc. I suppose, in that way, I am attached to life. Or maybe I’m just so resentful that others don’t feel the same pain as I do that I can’t stand the thought that they take their happiness for granted.

November 27, 1996

Thank God it’s a half day. I’m probably going to go for coffee at Shelly’s today. Those are the most influential times of my life: sitting, caffeinated, thinking, writing. I can think of about four times I’ve felt so peaceful. The Christmas camp out in 1994, walking in my secret hiding place in Sanibel Island, walking on the beach in the rain alone, and sitting alone in Shelly’s coffee shop thinking about everything and anything while drinking iced mocha. Doesn’t seem like a good deal.

December 2, 1996

My mom is such a bitch. I went to the doctor, and I’m 5’5” and 151 pounds. For my age, I’m 100 percentile for my height and over the scale in weight. Well, my mother humiliated me by asking the nurse exactly how much I was over, which was three pounds. Now I’d like to know how many pounds SHE is over her weight scale. She tells me I’m fat, I’m ugly, I’m not good enough, I’m immature.

I read this book called “Quiet-Crazy” and the girl’s mother is exactly like mine. She puts her down (“Dad and I talked about your weight problem”) manipulates her through guilt (“You don’t do your part”) and through religion (“That’s not very Christ-like”). She wants her to be someone she’s not. So the girl gets very depressed and starts sleeping all the time. At first I thought I should give it to Nickie because her mom is a psycho. Then I said, “She probably wouldn’t get the hint.” Why am I like this?

There was another good point in the story. The girl said that anger usually serves to cover up another feeling but isn’t an actual emotion. I think I’ve got a couple of feelings. Guilt, because I’m not good enough for even my own mother. Frustration at myself, because I don’t know how to change. And, at last, deep sadness. Why? Not sure. There’s no reason behind it- just profound, uninhibited sadness. But I don’t want to cry; I just want to curl up into a little ball and tune out the world.

December 4, 1996

I am so stressed out. Today is my first day back at school and I’m freaking out. I feel like I’m about to have a nervous breakdown and start bawling. I’ve a headache, too. I have way too much to do; I’m overloaded. Sleep is nonexistent and so is my concentration. The T.V. is blaring and dad is being annoying. I almost started crying in Algebra. It’s so frustrating. I got this sudden feeling that I was immensely overwhelmed. Now I know what people mean by nervous “breakdown.” That’s what I’m about to do: break down. I’m going to go take a nice, relaxing bath.

December 5, 1996

You know what I hate? I hate how people just sit and stare at the television. I have one T.V. in my house, and it is only watched by me when I am absolutely bored out of my mind and Mom won’t let me play the piano. We don’t have cable but Hannah does and it’s not interesting either. Even when I watch it, it has no intellectual value whatsoever. Except Jeopardy. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love Animaniacs.

December 6, 1996

I like to sit and listen to people talk to each other, and you know what? They don’t say anything. They talk about schoolwork, sports, or they gossip. When I talk to people it’s usually about something deep and interesting, even though it’s often irrelevant. Maybe that’s why people don’t like me. I mean, who cares if Bob likes Sue? No one. But how could you not care about the apocalypse, or reincarnation, or corporal punishment? For worthless shit that no one cares about, I have this journal. That way I don’t bother anyone.

December 8, 1996

I need to play the piano. The only other way to end my pain is to die. I am seriously considering going downstairs late tonight and ending this despair. I’ll just take all the pills in the medicine cabinet. Get away from the despair, the anger, the hurt, the restrictions, the insults, and go towards something welcoming. How I long for such sweet sleep. I need to play the piano- to feel the deep, pure tones of its warmth… fold into the forgiving perfection of music. To find shelter in its rhythm. Without music, I am lost. I am a useless, hopeless soul wandering around in an unceasing nightmare.

December 10, 1996

I thought I would never be so shallow as to care whether or not anyone of the male persuasion liked me but I found out differently. It all started with me trying to decide which dress to wear and the guys insisted on my new velvet one. I felt so out of place, especially with Mike looking down my dress, not to mention staring at my legs. But when I saw Diego with Hannah, I felt a pang of hurt in my heart.

I long for the platonic closeness of our friendship. Now he hardly ever calls, and when he does it is for Hannah’s phone number or to ask a favor. I love him like a brother. I know him too well to want anything else. We used to be such good friends and now look at us drifting away from each other every day. Last year, when people asked me who my best friend was, it was him and not Hannah.

Maybe it’s not missing him but missing that kind of relationship with a guy. There’s something so much deeper there than *just* friends. I always felt happy just to be with him. Anyone else would be nice, too. Someone that is a guy, though, because girls are so competitive. Guys are really sweet and kind if you take the time to know them on a totally non-penis-centric level. It would be nice to have him to talk to right about now. Maybe I’ll figure this out, and maybe I’ll apologize.

December 18, 1996

I don’t mind flying on this plane. I haven’t felt sick at all. I was so nervous at takeoff- I was glad I wore my silver cross to calm me down. Alice is not that bad. In fact, I can kind of relate to her. She asked if I was nervous and gave me an air bag, and I told her I just didn’t want to die. She asked me why not? I said just not this way. Often I long for Death but am scared to go to it. I’d rather get it than it gets me, though. Maybe I’ll get to have my say about it when we’re alone. She’s also gone through the same kind of thing I’ve gone through with weight.

I feel like a heifer, since I had a piece of pizza at four this morning and ate the airline food (half a bagel with cream cheese and some low-fat yogurt). I hope our hotel has a gym. I need to do some more cardio work. Shape magazine had a complete week’s workout for power, strength, and cardio training. I need to at least keep running for soccer when I get back. If the gym has a store, I might just buy a jump rope for when I don’t have a place to run. There were lots of power moves, like that gay skipping thing we do in volleyball. I can’t let this trip ruin my diet. It has to be one meal a day with two healthy snacks. Of course, all meals have to be healthy or vegetarian with no exceptions.

Okay, if even the teeniest-tiniest particle of an atom has some amount of space between electrons, then, theoretically, I’m flying on a big piece of jack shit. Or, I suppose I should say, the space where my body is supposedly floating into the realms of space. However, our bodies do have definition of space. What keeps everything from running together? How can that be, when the thing that makes up all of us and everything has no limits or boundaries? Sometimes I have to wonder if we’re really in God’s little shaky globe.

You know what? The existence of god is pretty much irrelevant to me, but Jesus is everything. Frankly, I don’t care who made us or the universe. After all, I need proof to believe anything, and not Christians, Jews, nor scientists can prove any theory. It was a fact that Jesus lived and died. In my heart, I know it’s a fact that He died for me, to serve time for my sins. Maybe that’s why, no matter how depressed I get, I can’t take my life.

December 20, 1996

Alice and I have had a lot of fun but I thank God that this is the last time I ever have to see her. She told me all this shit Hannah said about me and I got mad and said a lot of shit about Hannah, but now I realize that all of that was in the past. I don’t know why but I really miss Diego. I keep having a reoccurring dream where he gives me (get this) a YM magazine and tells me he loves me. Isn’t that just a little bit strange? I don’t even really like him. I think it could be just about any guy, so long as he said he loved me.

I love Diego but it’s not a sexual kind of love- it’s the same way I love Hannah. I love them as if they were my siblings and my only friends in the world. Alice made a good point: she asked me if I always feel ugly around Hannah. I do. I’m such a fucking loser- Great! I’m the ugly friend. I’d rather be the ugly friend of Hannah than of Alice. Alice told her boyfriend that I was the best singer and pianist in the world. I don’t think she’s a nutjob because she went to the hospital for trying to kill herself- but I was convinced the moment she said that. Then she insisted I was a genius. Then she began to get on my nerves.

December 21, 1996

I feel like shit. I’m in Tuscan, away (thank god) from Alice. I got drunk at Hannah’s bat mitzvah party. I was wearing those chenille gloves that mom sent with me and Chapstick because I still have a little bronchitis left. Well, by the end of the ceremony I went to the bathroom and saw that I had black fuzzy shit all over my mouth like an asshole. Hannah is walking around looking so beautiful, she’s like an angel, and I look like I have pubes stuck to my face! So after five screwdrivers, I sat down to play the piano. These two gremlin looking old ladies were whispering to themselves about how my playing was “too dark” and “inappropriate.” Whatever.

December 24, 1996

I am SO bored. I’m back in Phoenix with Alice and her super neat-freak cousin, Rachael. I have nothing to do and I’m broke. I swear to God, they have a civil court TV STATION where all they show is Judge Judy. It’s like my own personal Hell. I’m going to hang out in the backyard until mass. Just fourteen hours and thirty minutes to go.

I can’t even sleep. The grandma woke me up this morning saying, “Hannah, why don’t you get up and have some breakfast?” but I couldn’t really sleep, anyways, because of Rachael typing on her damned computer. I mean, not just typing, but whacking away at the keyboard with a hammer of some sort. Maybe dynamite. When people are asleep in my home I am as quiet as possible. I don’t speak, do the dishes, or even use the microwave! I finally fell back asleep when I heard the grandma croak, “Hannah, aren’t you going with them?” “NO!” I yelled. “What? You’re not?” “No.” “Are you sure?” “I am not leaving this couch until at least seven o’clock.” And now, all day long, she’s going to try to shove food down my throat when I’m not hungry.

I never eat when I’m bored. It just seems really stupid, considering how often I’m bored. Maybe it’s because I feel so good after hiking Camelback Mountain yesterday. Going up required a lot of endurance and muscle strength. Since my bronchitis is still troubling me, I had to take a lot of stops to catch my breath. Hannah kept complaining about how many times we had to stop until I had a coughing fit and couldn’t breathe at all. The way down required lots of agility and balance, and the descent was very steep. You have to jump off most of the rocks because it’s too steep to step. Hannah fell a bunch of times and didn’t get hurt, and I fell once and tore holes in my brand-new jeans and holes in my not-so-brand-new knees.

Her uncle heard me play and suggested that I start taking lessons again. He said it was a waste of talent. Piano has always been my second thing, to voice. But now I’m not so sure, especially since I’ve had laryngitis for so long. I can sight-read pretty much anything you put in front of me so unless there’s a teacher who can make my hands big enough to properly play Rachmaninoff I think I’ll pass. I don’t need lessons- I need longer fingers.

            Later: 

            Mass was beautiful. Christmas always makes me think of cracking glass.

December 26, 1996

I despise flying. I just get so damn nervous, it’s not worth it. Alice sat beside me and bitched and complained about how much prettier Hannah is than us I almost pimp-smacked her. After twenty minutes of bitching about how her dad wouldn’t let her put her chair back, she finally moved.

When I get home, the first thing I’m doing is taking pictures of the grass. Arizona was so damn ugly and boring. However, it comes in as a close second to the super-annoying grandmother. Ugh. Rachael wasn’t so bad- when she wasn’t typing. She wants to be a professor and recently auditioned for a play. We’re alike in many ways. The only differences are that 1. She’s really ugly. 2. I want to be a professor of music and 3. If I tried out for the play, I would’ve made it.

You know, I think I’m beginning to understand my mom. She’s sweet and funny but her mother is crazy. When she criticizes me, not only is she using her own judgment and adult standards, but she is trying to help me. When she tells me I’m fat, it’s not to be mean. It’s just that I’m so disgusting that even my own mother, the person who is supposed to love me more than any other person on the planet, cannot believe I am beautiful.

December 29, 1996

I am very depressed. You know, no matter what I do, I’m not good enough. My grades are never high enough, the way I behave is always too boisterous or too anti-social, and I sure as Hell never ever look good enough. I hate myself. I told Diego all of this on the phone, tonight; he was sweet enough to argue.

I’m so busy with my life that people who do notice something is wrong with me usually dismiss it as stress. Hannah knows a little but every time I try to bring it up she changes the subject. I can understand that I make others uncomfortable. Even when people do notice they are usually too wrapped up in their own problems to care. I can always tell is someone is depressed or not. It makes no difference if they laugh, smile, joke around- it’s in their eyes. I kind of feel like if I died, six people would cry for a week and then forget me. Maybe that’s how it should be.

January 1, 1997

I hate New Year’s Eve. We went to the park for the camp out, and Mason and his ugly knapp friend Carl were there. Mason was hitting on me and Hannah all night, which I found really funny. He was doing ugly-friend duties that are necessary to get past the beast to the attractive one. He looked really good so I reminded him that you’re supposed to kiss at midnight. When the clock struck twelve, he kissed Hannah, and then I realized that I was expected to kiss Casey! Hell no! Casey Matthews is NOT going to be my first kiss! So I just talked to Diego. We talked for four hours last night after he and Hannah broke up. I made some resolutions:

           1. Take good care of yourself (no eating, run every day, etc.)
            2. Don’t let anyone get close to you
            3. Never get emotionally involved with a man
            4. Everything you do, do for your own benefit
            5. Don’t let anyone walk all over you
            6. Be fiercely loyal to those you love
            7. Fuck those you don’t
            8. NEVER fall in love
            9. Hold yourself to your own high standards
            10. Stay alive.

I think those are very good decisions. That way, no matter what, I don’t get hurt.

January 2, 1997

I can’t believe I have to go back to school tomorrow. My parents have been getting on my nerves lately- especially my dad. I don’t know what I did wrong but he’s been such a sarcastic asshole to me recently. I’m sick of my mom complaining too. Everyone seems to be irritating me lately, especially anyone who has called me “Big Titty Adams” in the past month. Supposedly guys are supposed to love big breasts but I find that they just tease me mercilessly about them.

Every time I’m depressed or angry, I either have to play the piano or burn something. For instance, last night I had such a strong urge to light something on fire that I cried when my dad told me I couldn’t. Today I was playing over the TV, trying to record a new song I wrote, and dad was yelling for Alexis to get out of the bathroom. I started playing louder. I got yelled at. But you know what makes me even angrier? That when I am suicidal and moping around the house and not smiling or speaking, instead of asking me what is wrong, my parents yell at me. “I’m sick and tired of your attitude!” she says. Well maybe one day my attitude (along with the rest of me) will be gone and they won’t have to put up with us anymore.

January 3, 1997

I slept very little last night, and the small bit that I could sleep I didn’t get any rest. My idiot dog has taken to sleeping in my bed. The Gators beat the ‘Noles so it seems like everyone is being extra obnoxious today. I kind of feel bad because I screamed at Erica. That’s not why I feel bad, though; I feel bad because I didn’t hit her. I even stepped up to Mary today. I don’t want to go to soccer practice but I need to so I can get all my aggression out. I found a new word, as well: cynical. That’s my whole personality and style of thinking. Distrusting and reclusive.

January 7, 1997

Can’t write for long but I need to. Diego asked me to be his girlfriend. Shit. Sophia (his ex) and a whole bunch of other people are mad at me like it’s my fault that he likes me more than her. I think Hannah is jealous. Fuck her! I didn’t get jealous when he asked me to go to a movie and then leaned in so close I thought he was going to kiss me, but asked if he could get her phone number instead. I set them up! If I say no, he will hate me and our friendship will be ruined but if I say yes, the rest of the school will hate me. I guess I should say “hate me even more.” Why did he do this to me? We were best buddies- nice and comfy, no sexual tension and he ruined it. Damnit! Shit shit shit shit shit. I need to go for a run. People are already spreading rumors about me and Hannah is being a total bitch when I need to talk to her most.

I said yes. It rained during soccer, which totally placated me. Lindsay called and said that Diego really likes me a lot. I trust her. She also told Diego not to fuck me over. She said “This girl knows all of your little games. She’s like He-Woman (very flattering). Besides, I’m gonna watch your ass like a hawk; you’d better not hurt her.” I’m trying to view it as, great- now I can make out with my best friend. I have to admit that the only reason I said yes was because of Lindsay’s influence.

I want to kiss him before I got to Tampa. I can’t believe that I’m thirteen and I’ve never been kissed. Pathetic. It’s not that he’s a bad guy. He got the guys in school to pretty much quit calling me Big Titties. I’m such a hypocrite. I practically make it a part of my day to tell someone or other not to go out with him. It’s not like it really matters anyhow. We’re not getting married. I’ve poured my soul out to him and he has shared his life with me. That seems like it deserves some attention.

I don’t even care- I’m just thrilled that a guy actually likes me. I give it a month at the very maximum. In fact if it doesn’t work within the next week, I’ll flush it. Middle school romances are not worth my time. I don’t mind if he loses interest in me but I think he may be going out with me for the status of it. You know: “Well, I went out with Amelia Adams.” “Oh, you mean that girl with those big-ass titties?!” That would get to me.

January 8, 1997

Just as I predicted. Diego really does like me and I really don’t like him. It’s nice to have someone want me. Everything seems to be going well and yet I am not happy. I have a great best friend, I’m dating my other best friend. I can’t have any animosity towards Hannah just because she is better than me. No, it is more about my own self-hatred. When I’m around my friends I feel invincible. Not in a positive way, though. I guess a better way to describe it is “impenetrable.” It’s kind of sad. I have everything but I am just… desolate. According to everyone else, I am smart, mildly attractive, funny, popular, athletic, and now there are males who are interested in me. So then why the fuck am I still depressed?

January 13, 1997

I’m going to kill myself. Oh Christ, I stay silent in this infernal torment, afraid to cry out because everyone is deaf. I’ve got a bunch of prescription pills downstairs that haven’t been used in a long time. Marching towards Death toasted sounds lovely, doesn’t it? How I hate this life; this endless bullshit I endure every day.

I want to die. I want to die now. I want to die right here. I want to die and finally live. I hope my soul burns, turns these tears to steam and this emptiness into a new creation. Make clean this soul through the sterile flame. Burn. Death is the pathway to paradise, for anything is better than this agony. No one will miss me anyhow. They’ll cry for a week and then forget- just like Janice on the basketball team. They will forget me. I think they already have.

January 14, 1997

Last night I told Diego that is was his turn to cheer me up. When he asked why, I told him I wanted to kill myself. He kept on talking and I interrupted him to say I wasn’t kidding. He said, “Yes you are.” And then I was crying… I think he knows to take me seriously now. When I say that I want to die, I’m not just whining about it. I’m holding three bottles of pills and a glass of wine.

I haven’t seen him today. He’s probably scared he’s going to do something wrong, or he thinks I’m a freak. I don’t care about anything anymore. I don’t care about school, friends, or life. Particularly not Algebra, Science, or History. I only care about music; maybe because I AM music. People think I’m high. I wish.

Diego is in this class with me so maybe I’ll talk to him. I’ll at least walk with him since he can’t seem to get up the courage to walk with me. It’s cool though because he hasn’t tried anything with me and we still act like best buddies. The problem is that we’re still acting just like best buds. This gets on my nerves a little. Erica actually made me laugh today by doing her monkey walk in gym. It feels so good to laugh and mean it. It’s been a long time.

January 15, 1997

I just kissed a man for the first time. It was so nasty! Diego was at my locker and I gave him a hug and he said, “How about a good luck kiss?” So I leaned forward expecting a nice, normal, soft kiss, and BOOM! There’s a tongue in my mouth. He moves his tongue too fast too. He was chewing Big Red gum, he slobbered all over my face, and his hands went from my waist to my ass in a split second. I think I’m going to throw up. ::shudder:: Maybe that’s how it is supposed to be and I have to get used to it. EW! What an awful thought! No, there’s no way. He was in a hurry because he was about to go to lunch. Who better to learn from than him? I hope he doesn’t want to kiss me again today- nasty! I told Lindsay that he can’t kiss but she said I’m just not used to it.

I talked to Hannah and she said that she always thought he couldn’t kiss but never wanted to say anything. I’m going to kiss him one more time. I also talked to Sophia and she said, “Was there spit all around here?” and I was like “YES! YES!!! I thought I couldn’t kiss or something!” and she goes “Thank God! I thought I was O.E.!” I’m going to kiss him again and if it’s not better we’re going to have to break up. If I’m going to learn how to kiss, I need to learn from someone who can actually do it.

I’ll tell him that dating him isn’t fair because sometimes I like him and sometimes I only like him as a friend, and that’s not fair to him. Then I’ll add a good old “We’re better off as friends than as boyfriend and girlfriend.” Of course, I’m thinking that if I ever have to kiss him again I’ll yak, but I could never embarrass him by telling him that. Gross. I have to dump him before Thursday though because I cannot go to a movie and do that for two hours. I can hardly do it for two seconds! At least we have a four day weekend. Sophia was so happy when I told her because apparently he was telling everyone that she couldn’t kiss. She, Hannah and I should form a club.

I’ve been trying to figure out my feelings so I tried playing the piano, but that didn’t work, and I’m still not allowed to play with fire. I wrote a poem. I feel bad that I’m kind of leading him on but I’m not exactly breaking his heart. It’s only humiliating that he gets dumped by such a freak like me.

January 16, 1997

I feel so trapped. I’m thinking of new and interesting ways to kill myself. I’m very stressed and depressed, but there is a strange sense of calm behind it all that disturbs me. I keep smiling to myself like a child with a wonderful secret. Hell, I do have a secret. I want to die. Shhhh. If no one is home soon… I don’t know. Help me. Ha! You can’t help her now. It’s too far gone.

All I think about is Death. Oh sweet, tempting Death, take me away. Oh God, why? Why me? Why do I want death? Is my life not good enough? Am I so ungrateful? NO, it’s PERFECT. Well isn’t that just peachy. Why the fuck don’t the people that I tell take me seriously? I tried to call Diego but he asked if I could call back later. Then I tried Lindsay, Sophia, and Erica- all these people I don’t even know very well, that’s how desperate I am. Gone. All gone. Perished like a lone raindrop on the desert sand. Am I cursed? Am I damned to go through this god forsaken cycle my whole life? Go from nothing to agony back to nothing? Why am I so alone in this pain? Where are my friends? Where is my God?

January 17, 1997

	           And

Young couples do snow angels
On a hill
While old ladies go to confession.

In trash-bin firelight warmth 
A couple crouches to do 
Angel dust.
Little girls find a way to giggle,
Hysterically.
A face bids good morning
And nods. 
And smiles.
And walks through the door.
And kisses that .38 caliber.
And dies.

And children in the street
Jump rope
And sing songs of a tomorrow that isn't there.

January 18, 1997

Okay, so Diego finally called back last night and said, “Who the fuck is Jennifer Smith?” I’ve never even heard of anyone with that name so I told him that, and then he hung up on me. I figured that he was mad because I dumped him. The only people I even told I broke up with him were Hannah and Lindsay. I found out what was going on when Heather called me. She said that two girls called Diego and said “Ha-ha, you got dumped because you can’t kiss.” The girls’ names were Ro and Jennifer Smith.

I was pissed off because it’s none of their damn business, I don’t even know them, and they hurt the guy who was my best friend. I called Mike and asked him what the fuck was going on, and he told me the story and then told me to quit bullshitting around since it was obvious that I was behind it. I told him to put Diego on the phone. I heard him in the background saying he didn’t want to talk to me, so I said, “Put Diego on the God damned phone!” After sitting there for five minutes, he finally picked up the phone and proceeded to tell me how he couldn’t believe that I had them do it and shit. I told him I had nothing to do with it. He didn’t believe me so I started crying. I hung up (because I can’t stand to cry in front of anyone) and he called back and apologized.

Then we called Hannah on three-way and I asked her all these questions. It was so stupid- it was such a big deal. I told her that all this stuff about how having Diego mad at me kills me because he is so dear to me. I had a feeling it was Hannah. Lindsay suggested I call Hannah and Autumn and grill them. Autumn doesn’t know Rosalie, is on neutral ground with Diego, and isn’t afraid to admit that she has the phone number to Mike’s private line. Hannah, on the other hand, talked to Ro that morning, still likes Diego, was mad at me for saying yes to him, likes Mike a lot, is jealous that Diego and I are closer than she and I, admitted to telling Rosalie that we broke up and that I said he was a really bad kisser, and has been acting really stand-offish around me lately. Gee, who could it be?

I love Diego dearly but being attached to someone is bad for my mental health (apparently). This is the biggest realization I’ve had about my depression, but what a terrible one. Not to mention how bad it hurts to know I hurt him and that he actually liked me. For the first time he liked someone for who they actually were, and I am not an easy person to like. I have just conditioned him to never do that again. He respects me, he loves me, and I hurt him. It just kills me to be in this position.

I wish emotional pain could actually kill you like any other disease. It breaks my heart to know that he is mad at me. But I cannot, and will not, sacrifice my sanity for a man. I refuse to be like that. I think I will write a poem about it. As soon as I dumped him, I started feeling better. Every time I feel trapped like that I get depressed. I need to keep an eye on that.

January 20, 1997

Youth Group was fun last night. Matt and I flirted the whole time and his ex-girlfriend even started a rumor that he asked me out. He didn’t, of course, because he’s totally into Hannah. Well he’s just physically attracted to her. Someone asked if he liked her or not and he replied, “I don’t know. I don’t really know her.” Wow, someone who actually thinks about that.

January 21, 1997

My cousin ran away.

January 22, 1997

I am such a bitch. Before the soccer game, Diego was all flirting with me and trying to kiss me but I wouldn’t “because he has bronchitis.” Then Sophia told me that he had asked out Michelle (the cheerleader) ten minutes before that. I called her and told her that he was trying to hook up with both of us, and how he was doing us both wrong just like all the other girls he’s ever been out with. He called and swore to God that he didn’t ask her out. I told him he was dicking me over. He said, “Me? What about last week? You didn’t just dick me, you poisoned me, stabbed me, ran me over with your car, threw me in a lake, ran over me with your boat, and then had the alligators and piranhas eat me!” I told him I would call Michelle and he said, “Why don’t you just push that knife a little deeper into my back?” I apologized profusely but he actually insisted that he got what he deserved. He said, “Amelia, you dicked the ultimate dicker.” I still feel like a bitch. At least there’s no chance of us getting back together.

January 23, 1997

Mason locked me in the equipment room with eight guys I don’t know, as a joke. Scared me to death. Nothing bad happened.

January 26, 1997

What a disaster. Matt and I were flirting in Youth Drama but then this other girl got his attention. He was flirting with her so I started flirting with Chris White. We were throwing the football and he tackled me. What I didn’t know is that when he tackled me, my pants ripped. I spent the whole three hours with the ass ripped out of my pants. Matt told me but I didn’t believe him. I went to the bathroom and sure enough, there’s a four inch long two inch wide tear on my ass! Thank God I was wearing black underwear.

I sat down, of course, and started talking to Chris. He’s a theatre major at TAHS and works at Disney over the summers. One pro, one con (I hate rat-land). He helped me by hooking arms and walking behind me back to back so that no one would see. We were praying and I brought up my cousin and how hard it was for me to deal with her being missing. My hands were hanging between the seats and Matt was sitting behind me. I was about to cry and Matt took my hand in his and said “I got you.” He told me it was going to be okay. Afterwards, Maureen asked me what was wrong and I told her. She gave me a hug and I started crying. It’s incredible that all these people comfort and care for me- pray for me. I just wanted to stay at church forever.

January 27, 1996

I believe that my feelings have… receded for today. The subject of my missing cousin is hiding in the very back of my mind but I’m ignoring it. If I start thinking about it I’ll get upset. I don’t want that to happen. Sadness = Weakness. How I wish to simply sit and think without distraction. My thick brows arched in a curiosity. My lips always formed in a flagrant frown, a bitter smirk, or an artificial grin. My hands, though… they are like children. They slap away that which I do not like and greedily clutch the things I cherish. They write poems, compose songs, join in prayer, and commit murder. One is love and one is hate.

Then there is my heart. Oh, my vile, aching heart. In my dreams, my heart’s true color shines through. In life, I stumble through the days, disoriented. I ache for sleep. Even as I walk through the halls of school, I become dizzy and my eyelids are like lead. Is this an accomplice to depression? The incredible need to sleep? Not just the desire but the need- like at any minute I might fall over in cold slumber.

January 29, 1997        

They found my cousin living in a trailer with a convicted sex criminal. Don’t worry though because he only likes little boys. She turns sixteen soon and when she does, she’s dropping out of high school. My aunt and uncle are just packing up her stuff and sending it to her grandmother’s house. I think that’s what should be done. There’s a lot of pain in me over this. She understood me, and my need for her to pretend like she didn’t.

January 31, 1997

Diego was trying to pull his I still only like you bullshit on me yesterday. He was all up close on me, trying to get me to believe it. Then I turn around and he and Autumn are holding hands. Then he told me he lost the basketball game because I didn’t give him a good luck kiss. Okay, whatever. I had a dream that I did kiss him and he kissed well. Gross.

February 2, 1997

Church and drama were really fun tonight. My mom and I had a little disagreement today. Actually, it was a big disagreement. (So big that I had to go running afterwards to get the tension out.) I flirted a lot with Matt but my stupid pretend I don’t like you routine is getting old. I think Candace told him I like him because I left for a second and when I came back he was acting weird. What is wrong with me? I did get to play the evil conscience, though, which was fun.

My unspoken prayers are for help. They plead for help as a drowning man’s lungs plead for air. They ask for happiness, hope, and forgiveness. The thing that bothers me about my relationship with Jesus is that I have doubts. I have this little voice in my head demanding to know where he is, if he really rose, how that could possibly happen, and cynically questioning the very existence of Heaven. The voice nags, then grows louder and louder until I cannot ignore it. I cannot hide these thoughts from God. So why try? I ask for Faith but don’t know if I have enough to even get my prayers answered. I’m so confused. Lord, help me to understand Your ways.                    

February 3, 1997

I am very stressed out. My cousin is being admitted to a mental hospital in North Carolina. They think that either all the LSD she’s taken has fried her brain or that she’s a sociopath. Sociopaths are usually male serial killers. I am physically, mentally, and spiritually exhausted. Thank God I have church Wednesday and Friday, or I’d be suicidal by Thursday.

February 4, 1997

I’m trying to quit cussing because I read something about it in Matthew.

February 5, 1997

I asked Candace if Matt likes me and she said “I don’t know.” That means no- I’m not stupid. I can’t help but wonder if God is punishing me for my lust and inconsistency. But hey, who am I to question God? I am lost and blind. My heart aches for intellectual conversation. Why not love? I have a hundred million thoughts running through my mind at a hundred million miles an hour. I need someone to hold on to so I don’t get swept away.

I am broken. What has ears but cannot hear my cries? What has eyes but doesn’t see my pain? What has arms but cannot hold me? What has lips but will not speak words of comfort? What has a heart but feels no compassion? You. I long to tell people that I am captive but when I do, they think I am crazy. Sometimes they insist that I’m joking. I’m sick of playing the façade. I’m tired of wearing a mask. I hate living someone else’s life. I want only to be on stage or to be alone. A hundred people or none. I love the theatre. Everything is right there. I’m happy and pretty and life is simple. I can pretend that everything is all right. But the performance always comes to an end.

February 9, 1997                                                        

First, let me tell you about Friday’s Youth Quake. As soon as Matt walked in the door he started flirting with me. We saw a bunch of people we knew. We moshed, crowd-surfed, and aimlessly jumped up and down until the concert was over. I laid my head in Matt’s lap all the way back to church. In drama, I told him how I went for a long walk on the beach so I could be isolated, but it turned out that there was an annual race the city was sponsoring and at exactly the moment I became comfortable on the beams of the pier a thousand people ran by. That’s ironic.

In youth group, I grabbed a really cute guy when we were playing drop the keys. After that, we went in for Vespers and introduced ourselves. His name is Ryker. Ryker Stewart, as in Jessica’s little brother. I ate dinner with him, and he rubbed my neck, and I laid down next to him because I was really tired and because I wanted to lie down next to him. He’s an instrumentalist at TAHS. He stole my shoe, and when I asked for it back he said I had to give him something in return. So I gave him some pocket lint. He laughed and started writing on his nametag. He handed it to me and it was his phone number! I gave him mine.

Jess called that night to talk to Andrew and then they both gave the phone over to their younger siblings. I told him I was about to shower and to call in twenty minutes. He did. We talked about lots of stuff, and my dad got on the line and in this really old man voice said “Hello? Hello? Is this Eckerd’s? Do you still sell Depends?” because he thought I was talking to Hannah. I told Ryker I didn’t know those people and he said I could go live with him. He said, “I have an extra bed. Well, it’s in my room, but I’ll just have to suffer.” I hope to speak with him again tomorrow night.

February 10, 1997

Ryker’s supposed to call me tonight. I’ll talk to him on the phone all week and see what happens. He’s going on Winter Retreat, but so is Matt. I take the late bus with Matt after All-State on Saturday and maybe tie up some loose ends. Both of them are great. I don’t know where all this attention is coming from. I really like that we met at church though.

I don’t want to sound boring to Ryker when he calls. I’ll talk about my soccer game, except that he doesn’t play soccer so that would be pointless. Nothing interesting ever happens to me. Maybe interesting stuff happens to him. I hope conversation gets easier as I get to know him. He guessed that I was afraid of clowns, and we’re both afraid of flying, play the piano, don’t smoke, in gifted classes, used to take opiates but quit, and have great senses of humor.

He asked if I had a nickname but I wasn’t going to tell him “Earthworm Jim” or “Big Titty Adams” so he insisted on making one up for me. He said it could be Thumper, so I told him I had a stuffed animal Flower. Then I imitated Flower; “You can call me Flower if you want to” and he said “Okay.” Then we spent 20 minutes talking about soccer, and then spent almost two hours reading our horoscopes from magazines. Mine were all like “New guy who likes to play hide-and-seek but not so well he can’t find you.” His were like, “Meet your dream girl and immediately hit it off.” I don’t believe in horoscopes but that type of coincidence is pretty smooth. He asked who the lucky guy was and I told him I wasn’t sure yet. He said, “Could he be on the phone?” I told him maybe. Then he asked who was over here on the phone with me and I said, “That Brad Pitt guy. He’s always calling me.” Haha, joke, change the subject.

He has made it very clear that he likes me so why can’t I do the same? I think I’m afraid of contact between us- I’ve been rejected by so many people already. Diego has scarred me for life, too, with his dinosaur kisses. I think that at Camp Glisson, I’ll talk to him about where we stand. I really like him but I still don’t know him that well. However, if I take the time to get to know him it’ll be too late and he’ll stop liking me. The story of my life. Maybe I’ll write a poem to help sort out my feelings. Probably not.

February 11, 1997

I talked to Ryker tonight. I felt so stupid- I just kept blabbering on about the dumbest things. I told him I was afraid of mirrors and he goes, “You’re probably afraid that you’ll look in it and see” oh great, another guy who’s going to cut me down “how beautiful you are.” What?! I was shocked! Then we talked about things he likes like Goldfish crackers, his lizard, and music. I told him I liked the sun, the beach, good poetry, my piano, music, rain, running, textures, and most of all backrubs. He readily assured me he felt the same way. I was urging him to think of something else, and he said “I like you.” I said I liked him as well and he said “That’s good.” Awkward silence.

I hurt my knee in the in-school soccer game today. I had to leave early and go to the doctor. I really could have stayed in but my kneecap was swollen to where it looked like a ping-pong ball was implanted under my skin. Besides, it was starting to tingle like it was asleep. The doctor said it was just very badly bruised. I have to bandage it every day and cannot do anything physical for at least a week. I don’t want to milk it but I’m glad people will know I wasn’t faking it just to get out of the game, because we lost badly. When I told Ryker, he asked if I needed him to carry me around tomorrow. Last night I had a hoarse throat and he offered to kiss it and make it better. It’s almost like he’s too smooth. Then we talked about the end of the world and Revelation for a little bit.

I’m so confused. I feel bad because I’ve realized just how much I sin. I used to drink and take painkillers. I quit cussing, but have said f#@! about a thousand times. I gossip, make fun of people and lie, not to mention my problems with my ultra-high sex drive. It’s only at night, before I go to sleep when I realize these things. I feel so bad. God gives nothing but love to those who love and obey Him. I need to ask for forgiveness.

February 12, 1997

I am so tired. My knee is swelling and throbbing, and I have a headache. Ryker was at Bible Study tonight. He brought me a thing of Goldfish- isn’t that sweet? He asked me if I wanted to do something on Saturday. I reminded him that we’d both be on the retreat and he said, “So it’s a date?” I agreed, of course, and then he asked me in this ridiculous deep sexy voice, “Well, what do you want to do?” and I responded in my best Jessica Rabbit “That all depends.” Then we busted up laughing. I told him I hoped we’d get some time alone.

You know what frustrates me? Lately, he’s been really boring to talk to on the phone. But that might actually be because my mind goes blank when I hear his voice. I hate that I’m so scared of physical contact. I’m scared to death to be alone with him because he might want to do something. Believe me, I want to really badly. This boy has the hottest, thin body, dark hair and navy blue eyes with white flecks in them. But I’m afraid that if I kiss him he’ll he gross like Diego, or even worse, he’ll think I’m a bad kisser. I guess that’s a sign of how much I like him.

February 13, 1997

Ryker and I talked for a total of three hours tonight. He told me he decided to call me Flower because it is the second most beautiful thing on Earth. Then he said, “If I called you Amelia, I would be calling you the most beautiful thing on Earth.” I admitted to him that I like him, and also told him about my weird like him one day and not the next problem that I have with some guys. It’s snowing in Dahlonega at Camp Glisson. I guess he’ll just have to keep me warm then. I had a mocha at five this afternoon and it hasn’t worn off yet. Ryker is calling me tomorrow morning because he leaves at five and won’t get to talk to me that night. When I’m with him or talking to him I really like him a lot. Sigh.

February 13, 1997

It’s just here at the falls in Dahlonega that I realize just how awesome God is. He made this waterfall roaring in my ears, the rocks I’m sitting on, and the icicles behind me. The world He made for us is glorious. I’ll write more later after prayer.

Ryker and Maureen made out on the bus. I talked to Maureen but I am not mad at her. She has no responsibility toward me. I am mad at Ryker. Actually, now I’m just sad. I talked to him and he said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been out with my friends after school.” (Supposedly he was high.) I said, “No. What you shouldn’t have done is kissed Maureen.” We walked in silence for a while and then I said, “Okay, I’m used to guys doing this to me. I just thought you were different.” He said he admired and loved me and some other crap.

I can’t believe that I was stupid enough to trust him! After all, he is a man. He thinks he’s off the hook. I will never have the kind of trust I had with him again- or probably with any other guy. We went in the lodge and I lay in his lap while he played spades. You know, I’m not even sure I can still like him. I told him that and he said he still likes me. On the bus to the restaurant this evening, he asked me out. I told him that as soon as I could trust him I would say yes. I danced with him to “Kissed by a Rose” (he practically made me). He asked if I would dance to the next song and I refused.

We sang this song that goes, “What if what they say is true? What if You healed a blind man? What if You made him see- can You heal me?” I started crying. Then we had silent prayer and I started really bawling. It was the kind of crying where you don’t make a sound. I walked to the bridge and was just wracked with sobs. Then I told some girl I don’t even know everything about being depressed and stuff. I want to die. My life is a waste.

February 18, 1997

On the bus ride on Monday, I told Ryker I didn’t want him anymore. He called me tonight, and as usual we did our horoscope ritual thing. He told me about the bruises on his wrists and when I asked him what they were from he replied, “I tried to slit them.” I, very calmly, asked why. He told me there was nothing worth living for. Big fucking surprise. If everyone who figured out there was nothing worth living for killed themselves, housing would be much cheaper.

We talked a lot and decided to start over. I told him to call me any time he felt like that. He asked why and I told him that I get really depressed too. The weird thing is, when it gets really bad, instead of slitting my wrists I draw on them with a pen. It helps to alleviate the craving. I told him that I’d kill him if he killed himself. He started crying. We’ve decided to “meet again” on Sunday.

I’m glad he called because I started missing him. Funny how you’ll let someone do anything to you as long as they make you feel a little less alone. I went to school but left after first period because I couldn’t stand it anymore. I wouldn’t take him seriously except that I’ve been suicidal and know that the more people say you won’t do it the more incentive you have. I’m listening to a song called “Killing Me Softly.” Exactly.

February 20, 1997

Ryker spent the last hour telling me how beautiful I am. He even made me look into the mirror and proceeded to tell me every detail of my face, which was weird because he was pretty darn accurate. Then he got really depressed and busted out the knife. I read him the poem I wrote about him and he started crying really hard. I think he understands a lot about me now.

Then he told me he loved me. I laughed and said “Really?” He said, “I love you more than the sun in the sky and the air that I breathe.” I told him I didn’t believe in love. He told me, “It doesn’t matter whether or not you believe in it. I still love you.” Makes me want to kick him in the face. I’m pissing myself off though, because part of me wants to love him back. Thank God I don’t know how.

February 21, 1997

I’ll probably go to Shelly’s after school to think. Mostly about Ryker. I didn’t want to go to school today but I’ve already pretended to be sick for the last four days. I think my Dad is catching on. I’ll also bring the book I’m reading: The Great Dialogues of Plato. Mrs. Swartz made a very good point, today- she said, “Ignorance is not bliss. It lets others tell you what to think without giving you a chance to decide on your own.”

I’m so confused about Ryker. He loves me? I think he actually loves me, and I do not return the sentiment. I’m broken beyond repair. I am absolutely terrified to see him on Sunday. I’m even more afraid to kiss him. What if I’m awful at it? Besides, kissing is so gross. I’m going to stick my tongue in someone’s nasty, putrid mouth and suck on their spit. Somehow that’s not very appealing to me. It kind of makes me want to yak all over the floor. He’s probably going to think I’m really strange. Wait a minute- he was tripping on mushrooms talking about how he was seeing Mario dancing on his dresser, and I’m afraid he’s going to think I’m weird?

February 23, 1997

Ryker wrote me a long love letter the other day- scared the sh!t out of me

Numb of all emotion and don’t care about anything

TAHS auditions tomorrow

February 24, 1997

I don’t want to die; I just don’t want to live- which is an improvement from preferring burning in Hell to staying alive for one more hour. I think I understand the phrase ‘bored to death.’ I’m hurting so much and can’t figure out why. I thought I made the right decision with Ryker. He broke my heart and thus does not deserve to posses it. If I’m not happy at the arts high school I’m just going to kill myself. Now that I look at life, there’s really no use in trying at all.

My mom is pissing me off. I hate how she brags about how she “makes” Mrs. Lincoln talk to her. That is so stupid- the poor woman probably just wants her privacy. I’m tired of feeling like this. Rage. I’m thinking of leaving my poems somewhere where my mom will read them. I’m recognizing that I need help. I think I’m absolutely insane. I don’t know anyone who feels or has ever felt like this for absolutely no reason.

February 27, 1997

Why can’t I be normal? Why can’t I be shallow and stupid and happy? My mind is so ridiculously complicated. This is sheer torture. The strange inscriptions that I draw on my wrists give me comfort. It’s strange that I am compelled to do this. Really, I could draw anywhere else but my wrists seem like they’re bound to hold this cryptic insignia. I am so utterly alone. I have nothing to live for.

In these times I feel that even God Himself has deserted me. I think that there is no person out there whose mind could possibly comprehend how I feel without being scared sh!tless. I’m scared to let people get close to me because I’m scared they’ll think I’m crazy and then leave me alone again. It’s so cold by yourself. The pain is so great I can’t even begin to explain it.

What’s wrong with me? I’m on the verge of tears but they won’t come. Have they all dried up? How do you diagnose someone who cannot laugh OR cry? How do you help someone who won’t let you get close to them? How do you love someone when they no longer feel emotion, but only pain? Hell, I can’t even understand myself- how is someone else supposed to? Life has already defeated me. Where is my God? How come my Savior isn’t saving me?

March 1, 1997

I’m lost. I don’t know how to tell Ryker no, or explain to Matt that I don’t want to go out with him because I like him. All I can do is write and make music. I’m going to buy some new music tomorrow. My brother got the CD of Rent, a brand-new musical on Broadway. It’s awesome. There’s got to be someone out there to understand me without judging me. Someone who will care about me and respect my limits and goals. Someone who will be at my side when I need them and who will leave me alone when I want privacy. There are all these people that love me but don’t CARE about me. Even the ones I’ve told about my depression just dismiss it like it’s something I have a choice in. Maybe it’s my innocence. Why, then, do I feel so old for my age? Life sucks and then you die- why wait?

March 3, 1997

All day I dream about death. I was in a good mood all day until I laid down to sleep. I’ve been hiding all my feelings. I want to die. I’m so depressed. I don’t understand. I am made up of conflicting extremes- black and white, good and evil, hyper and lethargic, gorgeous and ugly, cocky and unsure, blood and water, love and hate, high and sober, slut and virgin, angel and demon, and life and death. Shy and loud are my most obvious.

I will kill myself, eventually. That sounds so harsh doesn’t it? It makes it sound like murder instead of release. I will help myself. Yes. I need help. Hold on, I have to turn over my freaking sister because she snores. Okay. I keep leaving poems around but no one has read them. Maybe I should write a note and then refuse to talk about it so they’ll have to put me with a professional. Yeah- my mom ALWAYS reads my notes. I keep telling my friends but they either don’t take me seriously or are scared away.

March 10, 1997

I really need to heal my relationship with God. I lost my faith these past few weeks. Something about harrowing depression makes me feel so cynical. If God is a merciful God, He would have seen to it that I got hit by a truck or got shot to death or torture, even, would be better than this. I felt that He had forsaken me. Maybe some people at TAHS will understand. Hopefully someone at TAHS will understand.

March 17, 1997

Last night I flirted a lot with Matt and he even held my hand, which felt good. Then the youth drama people all held me down and tickled me. We went to Mandarin after dinner but he didn’t even ride in the van with me on the way back. I thought he was interested in me until we got to the other church. Then he got really distant. Eddie says that he likes Stacey.

Chris called me Ryker-lover and I got really mad because of all that boy has done to hurt me. I loved the way I felt when I was with him and then he tore my heart to shreds. Ryker not only destroyed my trust but then he lied and tried to manipulate me through guilt and flattery. Just another reason not to trust anybody. I would like to date Matt but I’m so used to being rejected that I’m not going to get my hopes up. I’m used to being the outcast.

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