Introduction
Ah, the sweet life-giving power of a pen on blank paper… It’s been months since I’ve written. Much has happened since my last notebook (which I lost). I have betrayed my art form. I lost a friend. I found a friend. I’ve lost my God and worshiped pain. Emotionally, I’ve been rather stable. I’ve found something that prevents the harrowing attacks that used to ravage my soul (though I’m not sure the ends are worth the means).
Johnny hasn’t written me for quite some time. I miss him more than words can convey but we’ve both moved on romantically. Chris Miller and I have begun to cross the line between acquaintance and friendship. It’s been awhile since Ryker and I last spoke, but it’s better that way. Sure, we were a lot alike, but two wrongs don’t make a right. Johnny is the man of my dreams, Chris is the man of my fantasies, and Ryker is the only one who’ll pay me any attention. I hope you don’t mind this incessant chatter. There’s just so much to say- I need a separate page for every thought.
Tainted
I feel like there is something deep inside of me that is still supposed to be pure and holy; naïve and trusting. I just feel so tainted. How my soul longs for that bright-eyed innocence I once had. I’m so young; it is not right to be so old and so young at once. I should not know these things. There’s something evil in me- something broken. I’m not supposed to need to be fixed yet. Tainted by some congenital defect of the soul.
Letter to Chris Miller
Why are you so good to me? You treat me so well it almost makes me suspicious. I thought men opening car doors for women was something only daddies did for their little princesses. It makes me feel a little guilty. Why should you waste your time with me? My soul cries out somewhere between joy and fear, and when you touch me I am lost. I feel so right when I am with you. It’s a feeling I’ve never experienced before.
I am fascinated by you. You are beautiful like a flame that I hope will burn me. It would be quite enough to just be a friend- to even be near you. But no one has ever touched me the way that you do. Come to think of it, no one has really touched me at all. You’re so careful and gentle; as if you would break me if you grasped me any harder. Most men just barge into me like I am three inches farther away than they think I am. Kissing is like colliding with these brutes.
I hope you understand that I’m learning here. I’ve never done any of this before but I’m willing to learn. My heart is no virgin but my flesh is. I’ve kissed before, but no one has ever kissed me the way you do. It’s all so new and beautiful and terrifying. Is this what life is supposed to be like? Because for me, for once, I feel like I’m living.
Looking Glass
People always ask what to do when they find out their loved one has hurt their self. You get out some gauze and athletic tape and you take care of the wound. Healing the body helps to heal the internal wound that caused it. Otherwise you leave both wounds intact.
Letter to Chris Miller
It was forced but not unwanted. Want: what an inadequate word. No word can describe what I feel for you. I try not to think as a cynic but part of me thinks that maybe you date me simply so you can ruin me. However, you know all my secrets and I still feel comfortable with you. I have nothing to hide. You wonder why I won’t look into your eyes and why I resist your kisses. That is the ultimate surrender. Physically and mentally I feel, for the first time, connected and accepted.
We’ve crossed a line. Several lines, and the reason I won’t kiss you is because I don’t know how. I’m far less experienced than most girls, I guess. I’m not trying to rush things but I myself feel rushed. I don’t know why. And then I think to myself that you’re never going to see this letter and that I’m going to have to say these words with my lips.
Letter to a Dying Friend
A light feeling of guilt rests on my heart, though I know it is not justified. I love you but I don’t think I can do this anymore. I can’t keep writing letters every week and not getting answers. I can’t hear your voice only once every three months. I finally found someone who treats me well. Someone I can see, which I realize is irrelevant because you’ve already found someone else and don’t mind. But the night is cold here without you.
Letter to God
I wish I could feel Your Presence. Just sit here and know that You are here with me. Just a small act of reassurance to let me know that deep in this shell of Death, there is a human being. I just want to be human again. I will not burn. I just want to be a part of the human race.
The Chastisement of a Foolish Soul
Is this how it’s going to be? Just us walking by each other, pretending not to see? And to think that I actually believed all the things you said to me. I feel so stupid. It’s my own fault. I knew it was too good to be true- too wonderful to last. I’m not bitter or angry or even irritated. I’m just sad that I couldn’t be what you wanted. Inside, I was always afraid that I couldn’t have you.
I’m upset now but I am only angry with myself. I am so stupid! Honestly, though, what was I supposed to think? The gifts, the dates, the passion, the words, the chemistry, the kisses… Oh God the kisses. Never have I known such passion from the lips of another.
I would die for those lips. I would live for those lips— so gentle and careful. How often I bit them back in chastisement for something we both wanted— something I continue to crave. Was it simply a summer fling? How badly I wanted to be more than that. You told me that you surrendered to me. So let me claim you if you are mine. Or was it all just to steal a kiss from a willing, if inexperienced, young girl?
Streams of Consciousness
Scratch and sniff stickers: the wonder of modern civilization. I would not give my life for them. I often have the concurrent urges to kiss Chris Miller and simultaneously set something on fire. I like things on fire— anything on fire, really. Everything looks better on fire. Not after it’s out, of course, but while it’s burning. I’m horny. Chris and I are going out after school. We’ll probably go to his house and gnaw on each other, not that it’s a bad thing. Only, my mom noticed a small bruise on my neck from the last time. I have little bruises everywhere from him. My legs, my chest, my stomach, my wrist, and my neck all have bruises. No, I’m not complaining. It’s not that I don’t want it but that it takes a lot to restrain myself. Oh God I want it. It’s just that you need somewhere further to go. What fun is it if you do everything all at once? If you take it slowly, everything is new and exciting and adventurous. I’m getting hyper. I have a class with Britney. I envy her. Chris loved her and I fear he will always compare me to her. I don’t want to be her. I want Chris to love me as me, and as no one else. What am I talking about? Love and relationships and the like! I’m becoming quite the romantic, aren’t I? I am afraid that I’m making wishes that will not come true. I sound as though I feel sorry for myself. Well, I don’t. I guess I thought I’d just clear things up. With myself. Hmmm. I hate it when I do that. ‘Chagrin’ is a nice word.
The Grief of Self-Knowledge
It’s going to be much harder, now that I’ve decided to quit. It was always easier to just do it when the slightest temptation showed. It quit being a temptation and became a habit. Now it sits in the corner of my mind under the dust and rot of that dark side which hasn’t been conjured up for ages. It is always coming, and the more I resist, the stronger it grows (and the weaker my willpower becomes). I don’t want a substitution; I want to be rid of it completely. I want to be rid of it.
My right half grows stronger. This is her time to rise. And yet, it’s almost not her. She has never been evil before, but now… something is different. Something is terribly, terribly wrong. It’s almost as if another has been introduced- but she’s not completely separate. It’s almost like the warped, twisted version of her and the complete opposite of my left side. She’s evil; like a succubus but not interested in sex or passion- only pure bloodlust and pain. She cannot stand before God. I couldn’t say “Amen.”
An Apology to my Journals
I feel sorry for you because all you ever get to hear from this pen is my bitching and complaining. All you ever hear is pain and anger, when there is so much in life that I love. I love music and art, long phone conversations late into the night, philosophy, literature, fire, thunderstorms, walking on the beach in the rain, my piano, black, roses, the way you smell, water, laughing, men’s bodies, women’s bodies, skinny dipping, and a million other things too numerous to list. You are my soul on paper and if you were a living, breathing creature, I would surely thank you. You are my refuge. You were there when I was so upset that my grammar was pathetic. You saw poems that no human could ever read because of the tears smearing the ink all over the page. You were there when my writing finally stiffened and died. My shelter, my strength, and my weakness; my apologies for all the tears you’ve had to drink. I swear I’m better than this.
Letter to Chris Miller
I shouldn’t have looked into your eyes. I shouldn’t have kissed you. Regret is not my style but this has become dangerous. Here, at school, I don’t exist. You don’t talk to me in the halls, you don’t touch me, you don’t walk me to and from my classes- we don’t even eat lunch together. It is the same way when we’re around any of your friends at any time. My eyes are growing accustomed to looking at the floor. I do not feel safe. I feel vulnerable and confused. And vulnerable. And very, very vulnerable. It’s a wretched naked feeling and I hate it. Make me safe again. I’m scared. I’m terrified out of my mind to know that, at any given moment, you could ruin my life by disclosing my secrets.
Meditation on Love
I was just thinking about love— mostly about how much of it is bullshit. I was thinking about sex and marriage. If I ever have sex with Chris, I’m not going to worry about him comparing me to past partners. My issue is his past lovers. There is a piece of him that he gave away to Britney and it will always be hers. I want him, completely, and I can’t have him that way. How will my future husband feel one day if I make that decision? How would he feel about my having slept with another man? This is a terrible feeling. I feel… second.
I know that he likes that I’m inexperienced. I like that he knows what to do with me but I don’t like how he learned. I don’t know. It’s ridiculous but I kind of wish we could have learned, together. That way it would be easier for me to tell him what I want. I have to admit that I am a little jealous of her because she got to have him before I will. I think that he still loves her. I can hear it in his voice when he talks about her.
Once you lose it, it is gone. You can never get it back. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I trust you because my love for you is different from anything I’ve ever felt. But there’s a lot unsaid. I give my love freely but not my heart. Love is an amenity. It is a comfort but not a necessity. I must ask: Is it worth it? Are the kisses worth the pain? I know this will end, and most likely painfully, but will it all be worth it?
The Question
Last night, I cried. I don’t really know what I was crying for. I suppose part of it may be that Johnny said the exact same thing as Chris did and I didn’t want to hear it. I knew I was right but it’s so much harder to hear it from the lips of my dearest friend. At least that makes it valid. The truth is that we will never have anything.
It’s just the sense of wholeness that I glean from you. I feel like I have worth. No one’s ever looked at me the way you do, or kissed me the way you do, or touched me the way you do. You’re one of the most incredible people I have ever known. All of the physical stuff is fun and I want more. But you don’t. So now I have to make a decision for myself. Will this go on or will it stop before it gets out of control? Will I let it continue despite the inevitable pain you will cause me?
And Today…
My soul is dark with confusion. I am emotionless and stoic. It was a hard fight, last night; it taxed me dearly. I cried, writhing in pain, and curled up into the tears that sped me to sleep. My humanity slipped out of my hands. It was a bad night. I won the battle but is there any hope of winning the war? As my disinterested eyes stare at the paper, I secretly thank my subconscious mind for speaking. And in this moment, I reprimand it. Those are voices I choose not to hear right now. I refuse to listen.
Empty is good. Empty is safe. Safety is important. I feel the demons around me, warring for my soul. Pain and pleasure are merely on the same continuum— different degrees of the same thing. It’s easy to talk of things like this, in this state. It’s like I’m in third person, seeing the order of the universe and understanding. Emotions do not distract me. When we feel a particular way because of a particular event, we are led to believe that that which we feel is real WHEN IT IS NOT.
The Crow
- I - I peel the skin off of frozen blueberries. Little bald bird eyes. I saw a bird commit suicide on I-95. It just stood there; didn't even flap its wings. Maybe it was blind. Maybe it lost its eyes to someone like me. I committed suicide, once. (It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be.) - II - I saw a man walking, today- Walking along the highway opposite of the traffic flow as I was waiting for the light. His index finger and thumb extended towards me (conviction) towards himself as if his little toy gun were a threat to anyone or anything. Pointed it at his head and pulled the "trigger." So much blood..... And his eyes were wild as his brains splattered across my windshield. Not like the bird and not like me. I locked my doors.
Streams of Consciousness
I’m sitting here thinking about pain, and the tree outside the window is still and silent. I fiercely desire to go lie face-down on the grass and to breathe in the scent of the earth and all that is in it. I want to melt into the dirt and fall asleep in the sunshine. I really want to cry. There’s no reason I should feel like that; I’m not mourning or depressed. I want to cry for the beautiful blue sky, and the clouds, and the wind, and the trees, and the rain. This is one of those perfect days I spend at Shelly’s, drinking coffee and writing shit.
That’s all my writing is, now: shit. I miss it. Calliope has deserted me. My muse moved on just when I was getting good. I feel incompetent without it. Just look at my thoughts! They are so blunt and crude and ugly! I could weep for the fact that I just ended two consecutive sentences with exclamation points. I could weep for the slavery of words to a mind that has forgotten how to use them.
Ever since he came along, I have been softer and more tender. My heart is no longer made of ice. My lips are no longer frozen stiff. Even the amount of pain I can endure has been reduced dramatically. I slapped myself and it stung. Poured hot wax into the palm of my hand and it was uncomfortable. I cut myself and it hurt. It’s so new and frightening and wonderful.
I’ve been color-coding the days in my planner to find out if there’s a pattern or not. White is that I didn’t think about it enough to distract me. Yellow is when it occupies my thoughts. Orange is when I’ve thought about doing it and really wanted to. Pink is when I could barely stop myself. And black is, of course… well I don’t think I need to write it.
I’m actually in a fairly good mood today. I stayed after school for an audition. Chris wasn’t at school and I had to ride the late bus which was irritating. When I got to my bus stop, no one was there to pick me up. So I was walking in blank pants and a white dress shirt with a black blazer in one hundred degree weather when I heard someone say my name. I didn’t look around because that happens a lot. Then this car drives up, and it’s Chris! He’d been waiting for me for two hours. We went to my house and he bought a candy bar from my sister for her school thing, which is really sweet because he doesn’t care for chocolate. We went to the beach, watching the surfers and the waves, pink with the setting sun. It was a nice surprise.
Letter to Chris Miller
Tell me, I’m begging you: what word I write can help you? What sound can I make to heal you? What song can I sing that will make you smile? Maybe I’m just trying to justify something that cannot be justified, but I feel very strongly that the sin and blame is on my behalf. Maybe you’re testing me to see whether or not I remain trustworthy. Maybe it’s over and I should just give up and move on. I don’t want to move on. I feel that there is no moving on after you— only loneliness. You’ve shown me a world of beautiful things and thoughts and words, and I’ve given you nothing. If there is anything I can do to reconcile this, please tell me. I’ll do anything. You can have it all. And if you’re going to love me, then love me. And if you’re going to leave me, just go.
Resolution
I do not mind this arrangement. I think it suits both our purposes. I feel like, this way, I can at least have some part of you. Maybe I can’t have you like I originally wanted but it’s better that I am near you and tortured by my longing for you than if I were taken from your presence forever. This is honest. This is good. If this is the only way I can have you, then it is the way I will want you. You cannot be faulted for not feeling the same way I feel about you.
And the Next Day
This is a new sensation. I don’t think I’ve ever remotely experienced this desire, this hunger. My lips miss him. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Hey, I dreamed this! Not this; that! When I was looking at that bush! Sorry. Part of me would like to think that he feels the same way but I don’t think he does. I miss him and I miss what we had. This is nice but he can’t wrap his arms around my waist or hold me until I feel safe from the rest of the world. I can’t bite him or hold his hand. His reasons are entirely valid and legit, but I can’t stand that girl for what she did to him, and in turn did to me. My lips miss him almost as much as my heart.
Streams of Consciousness
I have a real problem with sexual fantasies. Many of them went away when I was dating Chris because I was living my fantasies (which is much better than obsessing over them). There’s this recent one where no one actually touches me. I’m wearing my black angel wings, a black lace merry widow, and black underwear, garters, and stockings. I’m standing up on something. It’s all in black and white, and a cool (but not cold) wind blows on me. My eyes are lowered to the floor. I think someone was photographing me or drawing me or something.
I had a continuation of that one today with only a few differences. I wasn’t wearing wings, the other person was Chris, and we weren’t exactly taking pictures if you know what I mean. It’s probably the best sex dream I’ve had yet and I’ve had some pretty good ones. For instance, I have this one in a hospital green room where these three nurses with short black bobs and identical faces stoically get me off. The killer is that they’re all wearing elbow-length black vinyl gloves.
Sigh. I’m singing in the first vocal concert of the year. It’s going to be incredibly humiliating. If I went to see another arts school and they did the same music we’re supposed to perform, I’d laugh them off the stage. I’ve worried about the department ever since Kate was replaced by Dr. Evil. Doesn’t that woman realize that she has taken my only love and made a mockery of it? We used to sing under the direction of John Rutter every year at Carnegie Hall. This year, Dr. Evil is planning for us to perform at DISNEY. Our music program is nominated for a Grammy but she’s destroyed the whole department in a few short months.
I don’t want to be here. I need to get the stuff with which to make my wings. Halloween is soon. My parents are going out of town this weekend and I’ll be home alone. I wish Chris and I were still dating so we could fool around but we’re not so oh well. I mean, I can’t do anything about it.
I also can’t do anything about Karen. Chris keeps telling me about these ‘crazy’ and funny things she does and says, and they’re always things I’ve done or said earlier on in the day in front of her. Plagiarist. And it’s not like I can explain it to Chris. When I do, he acts like there is no possible way I could have said something that funny and gives me this “Jealous?” look that I hate. At least everyone made fun of her when she came to school dressed like me.
I wish I could kiss him one last time. God, I must really like him— I’ve never been this mental over a guy before. I wish he wanted me as badly as I want him, but he doesn’t and I can’t have him, so I should just stop writing. I wish him happiness with whomever he finds. But I would spend all of my wishes on him if I thought that it could bring him to me.
Love
“I’ll put up with any torture you impose; anything, anything, would be better than this agony of mind— this creeping pain that gnaws and fumbles and caresses one, and never hurts quite enough.”
- Sartre
The Death of my Soul (the loss of music)
Everything I’ve ever lived for is now dead. Everything and the only thing I’ve ever loved in a good and pure way has been made into a travesty. I would have lived for music and died for music, and now I can do neither. It no longer exists to me. And just as it has been eradicated from this place, thus has my soul been destroyed.
I have no reason to live, love, play or sing. The songs that used to sleep in the hollows of my heart have been exterminated by a cruel and ignorant hand. My heart is broken. My sanctuary has been desecrated. My soul has been raped of the only thing that could have saved it. I weep tears like notes— the purest sorrow for the most evil and disgusting of losses. I weep for that which I once had and now is lost. How can something so loved and revered now be so abhorrent in my eyes? Oh my love, my life! Music was the only thing I truly never betrayed. This has broken me. Now be merciful and let me die, for living is death without it.
The Sun Also Rises
This morning, around five or six a.m., I woke up from a nightmare to see a boy next to me. He had sandy brown hair and beautiful blue eyes, a long face, and high cheekbones; kind lips. We startled each other. I actually winced when I saw him, and when I recovered, he was gone. After several other bad dreams, Dad woke me up for school but I wouldn’t roll over because I swore that someone was lying next to me. It was a comfortable, secure feeling. And then, at Mrs. Duncan’s house before school, the cat was attacking my good hand violently but shied away from my right hand. If I moved my left hand towards it, it bit it, but if I moved my right toward it, it shied away and laid down. His eyes were so beautiful. I wonder if there is something seriously spiritually wrong with me.
Letter to Chris Miller
You can’t. You can’t say something and do something else. You can’t tell me to slow down and then come over and both of us end up half-naked. But you did. You can’t say you want to be just friends but then come over to wake me up so we could watch the sun rise and we both end up half-naked. But you did. It’s not that I don’t enjoy it, but if you don’t want to hurt me, why are you doing this? If you’re just horny and want to make out, fine- but then you can’t write songs for me, or sit on my roof and watch the sun rise with me, or dress me, or undress me. But I know I can’t resist. You can do just about whatever you want to me. Just please don’t hurt me too much.
And if something happens and you decide that you do want a relationship, it’s going to hurt. A lot. Are you willing to sacrifice? You can’t. You wouldn’t. You couldn’t, and you won’t. Who are you to free me and capture me all at once? You make me smile through my tears but they are often provoked by you. I want you but you don’t want me completely. It’s not okay to just take one part of a person and reject the rest. You want that part of me but you can’t have it. Not like this.
The Secret Garden
I’m nervous waiting for the cast list to go up. I know that if I get into the show I’ll have to arrange the rest of my life around it, but I will be busy and it will be an honor to be cast since I’m an underclassman. If I don’t get in, I’ll feel like crap, though not making the cut as a sophomore is standard for TAHS. I’ll live for the thrill of the curtain and the stage now that music is dead to me. Doc says that the fun is in creating a gestalt: something greater than the sum of its parts. So I hope for chaos.
Confession
It’s been almost a year since the first time I did it. I did it to punish myself for my sin and needed only one. After that, I did it every once in a while— always the same way on my right side. I didn’t know it was pulling me away from God and reality. I actually thought of it as being redeeming. This went on and on until the winter retreat last year. I prayed and prayed and said, “God, please heal me of this. I will do anything.” After about two weeks, the temptation hit me again, and it hit me hard. I wasn’t going to. I was simply going to sate the thirst by fasting, but it destroyed me.
The moment that knife came near me, everything changed. It ceased to be a punishment and became a game. I did it to find out exactly how much pain I could endure. I pressed the blazing metal into the tender, sensitive flesh on my abdomen. I got to the point where I enjoyed it. I plotted out the places where the scars would be in accordance to how my internal pain translated into skin. Eventually I got bored with that too.
The first night that I cut myself instead of burning, I only did it once. I nicked the side of my wrist where that big vein bulges out against the bone— just a scratch. I think it may have been as soon as the next day when I did it again. I remember lying in the bathtub as the blood poured down my body and swirled into the drain. I did it four times that night. A new one for my wrist and three on my stomach. Three weeks later, maybe longer; that was the last time I did it. Only… it was so violent. Thirteen cuts, one on the side of my wrist where that vein is, two on my inner thigh, one on my calf, and nine on my stomach- all adding to the thick red welts that have yet to heal. I remember lying on my bed, bleeding profusely, sobbing for what I had become.
And then, for the first time in those three weeks, I slept through the night.
Distraction
I need to be distracted. Yesterday went well and I got cast in the show. I talked to a teacher and I exercised. So don’t ask me why I feel this way. There’s never a reason really. So, distract me. Give me homework and brainteasers and ramble on about unimportant things that keep my brain occupied.
It’s not one of those sharp, wailing, “You must do it now, you have no choice” voices. It’s a sweet, quiet, dull aching sensation that softly reminds me of what I am and cannot cease to be. The brands on my skin whisper what I’ve always known: there is nothing I can do to stop this. And I dredge up a forgotten faith somewhere deep in my soul and thank God for him. He is a gift. Though I don’t know why or how, I see how lucky I am to have more than one guardian angel.
I will betray everyone and everything I have ever loved.
Pleading Forgiveness
It was an accident, I swear. I made a ring out of razor blades and forgot. I made it especially so that, if it is disturbed too much, or you try to take it off, the sharp edge of the blade goes into your finger. I like that. Oh, my patient lover, forgive me. Somehow you have the courage to stand beside me and hold this razor-sharp hand and kiss these keen lips. And as I mutilate the feelings trying to get out with words, I become hopeless and shameful. It really was an accident. You can tell because I’d never do it anywhere that visible. Oh forgive me and your words would be enough to sustain me.
Chris Fucking Said “I Love You”
You can’t do this to me. Oh God, please don’t let him do this to me! You make me crazy; I ache for you. During the school week we go through the motions and read our homework to each other on the phone. When weekend rolls around, so do we. A kiss here, a bite there. How did that get on the floor? You must be careful with your stray words, my friend. If you’re going to love me, then love me, damn it.
You’re fucking with my mind. Please don’t do this to me. I don’t know this. I almost wish that you were like the others: make me comfortable, tell me you love me, and then screw me over. I know that. I know how to deal with that. But I have no idea how to pretend for five days out of the week that what happened on the sixth and seventh never existed. If you were anyone else, I would accept my fate and sadly be on my way. But you leave me unsure of all I used to be certain of. I don’t know what this fate is but I already swore to accept the punishment.
I agonize over our weekends all week. When Saturday rolls around, I slip back into that false security until Monday when all my hopes are shattered. If you’re going to hurt me, hurt me. Give me concrete evidence that I can look at objectively and justify my leaving you. How was I to know that underneath those strong, safe arms there was a concealed weapon and a heart of steel? It wasn’t until the cold metal pierced through my breast that I realized that I’d been had.
Letter to Chris Miller
If it were a simple thing I would tell you but there is confusion in and around me. You prefer to leave and maybe the fault is not yours. Barefoot we walk on broken glass and then with dirty hands we touch each other; we hurt each other; all the signs are broken; pale off in the dark. There is no more time to look at stars above and all pre-paid, printed and credited to us- but how can you not give a damn?
Vision
I suppose there comes a time when you have to accept the truth. Unforgiven. And the silence before that word was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced. Everything that exists in the heavens stood still for that moment. That is the word that shattered what was left of my soul. He didn’t even look at me. Sometimes the answer is No, they say. Honestly, though, I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same if in Your position. Keep him safe and love him better than You loved me. Give him strength and bless his life with joy. He deserves it. Don’t let me hold him back from salvation. I accept my sentence because I understand the validity of it. And through their pain and agonizing truth, they were beautiful words.
Armageddon
They know. They know! I’ve killed my parents. That’s why I didn’t want to tell anyone: I couldn’t bear the thought of all the agony I would cause them for being such a failure of a human being. And besides I’ve given it up. Now everything is out. Chris warned me not to leave that shit out where they might find it! With my luck they don’t figure it out until after I’ve stopped. God punishes me. First You don’t forgive me and then you torture me and my family? That’s why I didn’t want them to know! I knew it would break their hearts, and it did.
You should’ve seen the look on my daddy’s face— and the way my mother screamed when she forced me to show her my scars. A blood-curdling scream like she was witnessing a murder. And it’s all my fault for leaving that shit out when Chris warned me specifically to clean it up! Damnit! I’m so fucking stupid!!! What was I thinking?
I won’t ever do it again. I made that vow before all of this came out. I swore to Chris that I wouldn’t and I’m going to do my best to uphold that promise. I need him too much. I shouldn’t have dragged him into this. Now I’ve not only hurt my parents but Chris too. They thought it was his fault and told me I couldn’t see him anymore. I told them he was helping me stop so they finally let me call him.
I didn’t tell my parents because I love them and they act like I’ve done all of this just to hurt them. They grounded me! All this stuff was going on with Andrew and I didn’t want to add more stress to their worries. It’s the same reason I never told Johnny. I just want to sink into the floor and disappear. I don’t want to see a stupid counselor and have him tell me how fucked up I am. No shit. I mean, how long can this last?
My entire universe has just come crashing down at my feet. No more lies. No more hiding: just my severe mental illness for all the world to laugh at. I’ve lost my God. I’ve lost my credibility. My mom says I’m a spoiled, ungrateful child. Daddy came in the room while mom was screaming and crying over my scars downstairs, and I was sobbing on the bed, and he came up and I said, “You can’t punish me for this! I can’t help it— you can’t punish me for it,” and he sat behind me and put his arms around me and I just cried. I’ll never forget my mother’s face. It was of pure terror and hatred. Chris is all I have left. They will laugh. I used to laugh. The truth will not set me free; it will bind me with unbreakable labels. Oh my beautiful, wretched world— my kingdom of lies destroyed. It is the end.
Pleasure: A Meditation
I just realized today that I’ve never allowed myself to feel pleasure. Maybe it’s just how I work, maybe it’s from the church, but I’ve never felt it without guilt. I have NEVER allowed myself to. And so, in the natural human quest for stimulation, I found pain— pain to punish myself for wanting pleasure which worked well to curb the edge. That is, until I started to enjoy it. Physical pain gets me hot. And so, since I know no other source, I disguise pleasure as punishment. Some people do drugs; some have sex; some punch through walls; I injure myself. Well, not anymore, since I’ve “quit.” It was the only thing that I believe would purify my soul.
Is there any pleasure that is pure? Is it a sin of the flesh simply to be of the flesh? To lust after the flesh, to touch the flesh, and taste the flesh— a sin? Maybe it is an instinct. What sin is it to want to experience that which makes life worthwhile? Not sex but intimacy (with which it comes along). Pleasure is beautiful. Shall we wander around, bitter and melancholic because we remain abstinent from all that is good and worthwhile? Would you wish me to live a chaste life of misery?
I have never known a lover. Being sinful would be new and exciting. Why can’t I just be normal and fuck around without a care? Love, love love; what is this obsession? Love is a term used to describe intense affection. Who cares? I want to take it all in: the good and the bad. A strange sense of freedom and power comes to me. I have made my decision.
Streams of Consciousness
I had a dream, last night. I was living my life just fine and then I ended up in a dark, cold place with someone like Marilyn Manson with blond hair. He tied my wrists to a wooden post with thin leather strips. I remember my wrists raw and bleeding, and that someone was whipping me. Then it got scary. I pleaded and begged him but the man said nothing. I felt so helpless. I’m not sure but I think there was an implication of rape. The man was silent and smiling. He had black eyes. I have the most fucked up dreams. I’m so horny! I’m always fucking horny. It’s ridiculous. I’d be a good lesbian because I know what turns women on. I’m not always sure what to do with Chris but unless we get serious I’m not going to sleep with him. I don’t think I’ll let him go too much farther with me. Then again, I love him and will certainly die if I don’t get to fuck him. This seems weird to write but… he has a really large penis. His is the only one I’ve ever seen but that can’t be normal- it’s as thick as my wrist. I’ve got to be careful. He joked that he would take my virginity, and right before I was going to orgasm, he’d put a bullet in my forehead and send me straight to Hell. What he doesn’t understand is that I would gladly go. I’m going to burn, anyhow, so I might as well have fun on the way.
Reflections
He frightened me last night. He said, “You are nothing but a piece of meat. Just think about it. I mean, honestly, think about it. Was I trying to get you to stop or was I there licking your wounds all along? And you’ll never know whether or not it is true.” That’s right, I won’t.
Innocence Lost
There are too many people ignoring me all at once and too many thoughts struggling to get noticed. I don’t think I can handle them right now. I know I can’t. I’m sore from his fingers. And confused. Didn’t you tell me once that you’d never say, “I love you” again? I’m not going to think about this right now. But Chris, you promised.
The Thoughts and the Words
It did hurt a little, but not intolerably. I’m so scared that you’ll hurt me emotionally. The physical pain simply comes along with the territory. I can deal with it. I know pain. I like pain. But this; I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t know how to love you and I’m scared to love you but I do. I have from the first moment I saw you. I don’t acknowledge it because if I admit that I love you, you have more power over me. It will end, surely. I know that the end will be painful, like everything else I do with or without you. But will it be worth it?
I want to live my life! I want to love and hate and feel everything in between. I want to experience all that is you. I’m scared that you’ll be fickle and I will lose you. I can survive without you. I did it before and I can do it again but it requires me to shut part of myself off. I recognize that I will eventually lose you but I want to lose you to college- not to a derivative bitch like Karen fucking Hamilton.
Don’t say it unless you mean it. I don’t need you to say it. You don’t have to pretend; I’m already yours. It’s been so exciting with you. I’m so frightened of what you feel and what I feel, and I am going to trust you no matter what. Don’t tell me you love me; tell me you’re real. Tell me that everything you do and say is one hundred percent genuine. I want to believe your beautiful lies.
Road Signs
Pick the road sign that best describes your relationship with God. I picked the “Do Not Enter” sign because I have no relationship with God. I’m not allowed to. I don’t even consider myself a Christian. I believe it all; I’m not an atheist. An anti-theist maybe. I’m really angry. I’m mad at God. I wasted years of my life on Him and got nothing in return. My God betrayed me. I trusted Him to keep His promises and He let me down. Every step I took in faith betrayed me.
I tried to live that life. I tried to follow Him and to walk that road. I thought I was walking on it until the asphalt gave way under my feet. Everyone at church is so oblivious to what it really means to be alive or to suffer. I couldn’t tell anyone or let them down. So many look to me as a sort of sage; giving advice and interpreting dreams. It would kill my parents to know I’m doing it again. It would drive Chris away. YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE. I don’t know where that just came from but it’s on paper so it must be valid. I am giving up. There’s nothing left to do. No word I haven’t spoken, no prayer I haven’t whispered, no emotion I’ve felt, no test I’ve passed or failed, and no song I haven’t sung. I accept my lot.
Letter to Chris Miller
Was it all a dream? If only I hadn’t fallen asleep. The words have been said. I heard them, myself and spoke them, myself. I remember. Oh how I wish it was a dream because those words are too painful to be real. I love you, you said, you said, you said. Why did you say it if you didn’t mean it? Oh, break, my heart! And I can say nothing of it for fear that I am right or wrong. I am a stupid child. “Yes,” you said. “Yes, you are,” implying I was somehow at fault for all of this.
I wish we could take the words back and save them for a more appropriate time. Chris, why are you doing this to me? My friend, my lover, what are you and why are you? What sin have I committed against you that warrants such treatment? We’ve talked for hours about how dangerous those words are and yet you said them anyhow. Lies lies lies lies lies; I hate those words. Most of all I feared them because I knew something like this would happen. You didn’t have to lie. You didn’t have to say anything at all.
Affirmation
Was it a mistake? I mean, we were both physically and emotionally exhausted. It could’ve just slipped. Sometimes we say things we don’t mean. But, unless my imagination is working overtime, you said it again as I put down the phone last night. I’m just confused. Everyone that has ever claimed to love me has hurt and disappointed me, and I have likewise treated them the same way. If I say it out loud, it becomes valid and true, and then you can use it against me to hurt me. With some people I can convince myself that I never really loved them so their betrayal means less, but I can’t pull that shit with you. Please be patient with me. I want to trust you. When you say that you love me, I want to believe you. But it will take me some great amount of time to learn because up until this point, you have done everything in your power to prove to me otherwise.
The Long, Lost Art of Reality
Moronic! Absolutely moronic! It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about the human race as a whole, but the complete and real truth is that people are stupid and cruel. And selfish! I like to watch people. They’re so completely absorbed in themselves that it’s really quite sad. I know I probably come across that way, but not when you consider that this is the only outlet I have for my emotions and thoughts. In real life I rarely complain and am constantly doing things to make other people laugh. I even get everyone’s locker numbers and combinations at the beginning of the year so I can decorate them on their birthdays with hilarious shit inside. I wonder if there’s anyone else on the planet who cares about the happiness of others over their own.
I like to read people’s expressions and make up stories or subtext to their faces about whatever emotion they’re showing or trying to hide. Some check their reflection in anything remotely shiny. Sometimes they smile, other times they grimace and adjust their clothes. How sad it is that billions of us, everywhere, make no effort to acknowledge the existence of the rest of humanity. How can you live in such a multitude of people and still be lonely?
Reviving Ophelia, or ‘I Have Good Hearing, Mom, You Bitch’
I’m not going to give you my reasons because I couldn’t explain them to myself. I am compelled to do it as someone is compelled to order pizza instead of Chinese food. You would never understand my reasons and I wouldn’t expect you to. I wouldn’t want you to. I don’t think I deserve to ever feel anything remotely akin to pleasure or happiness. It’s how I live. It’s how I deal with the pain. If god thinks that I’m not worthy to feel, I don’t expect to feel, and I’m not disappointed when I don’t. All I can experience is pain and sorrow. That is all that I’m allowed to feel. I desire no health, happiness, forgiveness, companionship, pleasure, or love. If you deny yourself desire, you do not suffer.
In secret, I know that those are the only things that make life worthwhile, but since I don’t have access to them it’s easier for me to dismiss them. I rebuked my internal complaints and feelings with physical pain as punishment for my selfishness. I honestly believed that it was right. It was what god wanted of me. Now I don’t know what to believe because leaving the church has left a cancerous residue. I still know that I am undeserving of all that is good and beautiful and pleasurable but have nowhere to channel that. If I’m not doing it to please god anymore, why am I still doing it?
Letter to Chris Miller
I asked June why she and Amanda think I’m stupid to get involved with you, and she said, “Because of her, her, her, her, her, and her, and her.” Then I thought about all those poor girls and how you used them. It reminds me of that scene in Flatliners where the guy videotapes himself having sex with all these different women and his fiancé finds them. I don’t want to be one of them. If you’re going to want out of this, get out now before it’s too late.
Maybe it already is, since that night catapulted us onto a different level. Those three words that you spoke surpassed all logic and preconceptions. I expected to hear, “We shouldn’t see each other anymore,” or “Let’s break this off,” not “I love you.” Everything you’ve said and done has been in direct contradiction to what I had prepared for. Everything I said I was going to do, I haven’t. Everything I said I wouldn’t do, I have.
I don’t regret anything and you shouldn’t feel bad. I gave you permission, didn’t I? You shouldn’t have tried to atone for that by saying what you said. My cynicism and inexperience create around me a chaotic uncertainty that makes me feel like a child. I’m not pushing anything. In fact, I’m trying to stop it for long enough that both of us can get our bearings. I’m just going to have to let happen whatever is going to happen. It frustrates me because I have so little control over this. I really hate loving it. You.
Letter to God
You have cursed my life. I, who can never be good enough. I, who will never create anything worth your attention. I, who will never be worthy of your affection. I, who will never sing with the angels… do you think I didn’t try? I tried to live that life and you destroyed me and left me clutching ashes. My god, you have forsaken me. You have betrayed me. I’ve heard many people witness to your great healing; why them and not me? How could you relieve them of their pain and ignore me, your servant who made sacrifices of my own flesh?
I trusted you and you betrayed me! I asked you to heal me and you refused. I said, “God, I give this to You” and you didn’t want it. I asked you to let me know you are there for me and you told me that I am not welcome in your presence. How could you? How can you? That is not the fair and just god that I’ve been told about. I’ve been lied to by everyone I’ve ever known, except my father.
They always said, “Give it to God- He’ll take anything.” Bullshit. And now I’m lying to everyone I know. You know what they think. I know what they think. It would kill them to see me fall. I am a ‘spiritual leader’ at church and I have lost my faith. Do you know how much better my existence would be if I had died in January? Even Hell would be better than this. I will never go to Heaven. I will never be with You. I have fallen so far and You’re the one who pushed me.
Letter to Chris Miller
I want you to look me in the eye and say, “I don’t love you.” Because I’ve got to hear it that way so I can be sure that it is the final truth. I want to believe that you don’t love me. I want it to be true. Every time you look at me, I want you to think to yourself, “I’m glad I didn’t waste my time on her,” so just say it. It would make everything so much easier. You will erase me from your memory and I will remove you from my fantasies.
I’ll strip you from my dreams and beautiful visions of hope and happiness that worked their way into my head whenever I thought of you. I want to know that you are not mine in any way, that I never could’ve had you, and that I don’t stand a chance. I want to know you never wanted me, because I cannot bear the thought that I might have lost you. I want to know that you didn’t lose interest- you just never had any in the first place. And I want to be able to look at you and think, “I’m glad I never loved him.” I want to believe that, even though it goes against every fiber of my being. Truth is subjective, as you have taught me. I can’t go on wondering. I’m never sure when to believe you anymore but in this case I think I can afford to be pessimistic.
Just Breathe
Breathing room *inhale* date other people *exhale* I’d rather hate you than love you *inhale* I can make myself hate you *exhale* Because I value the friendship more *inhale* Tell me you hate me *exhale* Tell me you don’t love me. Tell me you don’t love me. Tell me. *inhale* To see if those feelings are real *exhale* I don’t want this to be another Britney Boyd * inhale* You’re only fifteen *exhale* After two weeks *inhale* Maybe you’ll fall in love *exhale* We’ll even go on a double date *inhale* You can pick the girl *exhale* Because technically, I never agreed to be your boyfriend *inhale* I’ve already asked someone out *exhale* When we get back together *inhale* and I’m half planning on it *exhale* I want to do this without hurting you *inhale* Promise me you won’t cry for the rest of the night *exhale* Promise me you won’t bleed. Promise me you won’t bleed. Promise. *inhale* *exhale* Promise me you weren’t even thinking about it. Thirteen: twenty-six *inhale* I swear *exhale* I don’t care what it has to do with. Tell me you hate me. Tell me you don’t love me. Okay, then, tell me goodnight. *inhale* don’t get out of bed *exhale* I want you to go to sleep. Don’t get out of bed until you’re asleep. *inhale* Think about it for an hour. Thirty minutes. Twenty-five. Twenty-two and thirty seconds. Okay, twenty-one. *exhale* Tell me you hate me. Tell me you don’t love me *inhale* Tell me good night. Sweet dreams. *exhale*
Click.
Dial tone.
*inhale* RESPIRI *exhale*
TODAY WENT SO WELL
What the hell!? Thanks a lot. Oh, great plan; value the friendship. What friendship? It’s so awkward that I can’t even look at you. Chris, I can’t even look at you! This absolutely kills me. I really can’t take this. Why was I so stupid to think that you would actually like me? I swear, you think I would’ve learned by now. I’m sorry. I never should have let myself believe that you gave a damn. I thought that your concern was what separated you from the rest. “Breathing room-” that’s bullshit and you know it.
I must commend you on your perfect timing though. Just when I was starting to believe that it was possible for someone to love me, you tear my heart out. I don’t want to date other people. I have absolutely no desire for anyone else but you flaunt your girlfriends right in front of me just to see how I’ll react. So I don’t. You are mine and I will have you. I don’t feel like there are other things I should “experience” right now. None of it gives me any pleasure anyhow so I have all the time in the world. I want you and I thought you wanted me. I was wrong. But this isn’t over.
Wednesday Oct. 7, 1998
I have already suffered. I am tired of this pathetic existence. I’m going to finally prove to myself and the rest of the world that I can be anything. I can be everything. Today begins a new era in my life. Today is the day that I change everything.
A Letter from Right to Left: Reigning in the War of Good and Evil
You let me do this to you. You let me do this to you. You let me do this to you. You let me do this to you. You let me do this to you. You let me do this to you. You let me do this to you. You let me do this to you. You let me do this to you. You let me do this to you. You let me do this to you. You let me do this to you. You let me do this to you. You let me do this to you. You let me do this to you. You let me do this to you. You let me do this to you.
To Chris
“Why can’t I have you?”
I remember when you asked me that.
I wish I would’ve given myself away.
Today, when you touched me, I felt this glimmer of hope. It was for what we could have been. My right side rules through the day because I cannot take the heartbreak. I hide behind her skirts and nurse my wounds. My love, my lover… I could’ve had you. For once in my life, I regret. I grieve for what could have been. Even though regret is not my style.
About the Left: A Brief Commentary
What a sad little pathetic existence she leads. She cowers during the day, sheltering herself from the world and all that is in it. Curled up like a broken child made drunk on her own tears, she weeps for him and what they could have had. She weeps for that which she put to death with her own inhibitions. It’s so pathetic and precious. Ever the victim, even by her own hands. She weeps for that which she once had and now is lost. Her thoughts make no logical sense. She wails, incoherently; the room filled with castigations, her face wrought with sorrow and despair.
To me she surrenders control over the days. I retire in the night when she comes out for more wailing and moaning. I check on her, sometimes, and at me she cries to leave her in peace et cetera and so on. I almost feel sorry for her. I would if it weren’t all her fault for trusting someone. And a man, at that! She flinches when I come near, as if I were evil, so I stay away. Leave her to her own misery and self-pity. She has something I do not. It makes her weak. It makes her vulnerable.
The heart is a ridiculous appendage of the soul, don’t you think? It makes her regret, which is a sign of weakness and lack of self-knowledge. Regret; what a hideous word. “To feel a sense of loss, mourn, a sense of distress over a past deed or event, sadness, disappointment.” It’s a stupid, frivolous emotion, like jealousy. She lets it sweep over her in a wave. I wonder whether or not she realizes that she is drowning in her own cowardice. I don’t think she cares. These tears seem to be a comfort… hmm.
Streams of Consciousness
I saw a man walking with a sign by the side of the road that read, “Homeless Vet - Will Work for Food.” My heart broke for that man. I wanted to give him my good life and opportunities; maybe he could’ve done something constructive with them. I told some people about Chris and he got very upset. My view is that, if you are ashamed about the way you are treating someone or behaving, you shouldn’t be doing it. I bought a new sexy little black dress. I also want a new pair of black leather boots. Ack! I’m appalled at: I want boots, I want clothes, I want a new bedspread, when there are those out there with nothing. Mother told Aunt Jane about my ‘psychological problems.’ Speaking of big mouths: that woman needs to learn to keep her god damned mouth shut. The past few days, I’ve had an incredible urge to do it but I didn’t tell Chris. He told me that he broke up with Lily because she had too many problems. I don’t want to be that girl with all the problems. I mean, it doesn’t matter because we’re not together, but it’s not yet over. He came over today and I found that I had forgotten what it was like to kiss him. I figured out how to save fifty dollars on Halloween expenses- instead of getting a corset, I get a garter belt and run a lot. I’ve been running every day until this week because I’m on my period which is annoying. At least I won’t be on Halloween. My parents are going out of town and want Chris to “baby-sit” me. Whatever we do now, I have to be careful not to be too attached because it means nothing to him. That’s okay, I get it.
Memories
I remember what it was like to be a Child of God, so long ago when I was in His Favor. I was blessed. There was no acting; no performance; no need to pretend because it was all genuine. God smiled at me. I could feel His Presence. I lived in His Arms. All the world was an instrument for His Work and all of life was a song to Him. But my hands are clumsy.
Where is the music, now? It is dead. Where is the joy of living? It is dead. Where is my soul? All that remains of the part of me that is pure and holy is a burned, broken shell of a human being, standing alone in the ashes. I watch the others’ fingers moving deftly over their strings. It’s a wonder that I’m not translucent. I have fallen so far. The memory is fading so quickly. I cannot quite grasp it all. Like my Lord, it slips away.
Lament
I woke up this morning. Sadly, yes, I woke up and realized I had no reason to. I have no reason to live- literally. Everything I’ve ever loved has been stripped away from me. My god has denied me forgiveness and healing. Music, the only thing I have truly never betrayed, is desecrated. And the only human being I’ve ever been in love with has left me. My hands are empty. My heart is broken. I stand in this awful abyss of hollowness and fear. Never have I felt so alone or powerless.
Slowly, the nothingness creeps into my legs and spreads throughout my soul like a deadly cancer. It is merciless. It is unforgiving. I have nothing to live for and nothing to die for. And I try to weep to comfort myself but what am I weeping for? Those pathetic, forlorn tears will do no good; they will not bring anything back to me. There is no tear that could set everything back into its place. They will not save me! And yet there is no curse that could condemn me deeper into Hell than my own natural instincts.
How is it that we’re so easily deceived? Why do we so readily accept our delusional wishes? It frightens me to think of how close I came to slipping into that oblivion of happiness and hope; neither of which truly exist, which is why it concerns me. And I even went so far as to fall in love or intense affection… no, it is love. It may have been my own personal, twisted version of love, but it is love, just the same.
I am very disappointed in myself. What a pathetic fool I am! I came so close to thinking that there was some sort of pleasurable thought or feeling that could be obtained without some kind of payment. I am deeply in debt because of Chris. Yet my currency has run dry because of this mutual affection and loyalty that we cannot ignore. If I cannot pay for it in blood, then I will pay in sweat. I am so very, very deeply in debt.
“The night was cold, but not because the moon wasn’t out. The night was cold. She pulled the blanket around her. It’s cold, but it’s not as cold as the simple misunderstanding that turns out to run deep. And it’s not as cold as certain facts; she didn’t love him, nor he, her- hearts that had been used, badly. Experience teaches us not to trust experience.”
Madame Realism
- Lynne Tillman