February 2004

The spicy coconut flavor snares your mouth with wonderful Thai essence. Your mother’s taken you out to Thai for dinner as she 9th steps you with apologies- another part of her 12 step AA.
Sitting there and listening you take it all in feeling the overwhelming sense of raw emotion expose part of you that isn’t even present.

I’m being such a pathetic lame ass in means of making communication. I’m saying everything I’ve ever wanted to ask but it stills not coming out right. I’m like another species from her. From everyone.

You ask everything. Why she abandoned you for a month or so when you were a baby. A glimmer of fright smears her face as she quickly makes recovery to ask how you could ever remember something like that.
“Dad,” you answer without flinching a muscle of expression.
She’s not surprised but looks somehow ashamed.
For once you feel you’re the one handling the situation, instead of hiding behind a nest of messy hair and tears.
As the conversation progresses you become more blatant with your words. You’ve always been one for brutal honesty when it came to something important. Tonight you totally did that.

All the words are coming out and I can’t even stop them. I don’t want to.

You tell her how you’ve had to mature quicker to take care of both her and yourself through the 13 years. She asks questions too- all of which you answer with utmost honesty even if it makes her swell with tears.
At long last before the conversation is totally dead a few things that will forever be seared into your mind are said.
You will always remember.

“Have you ever wanted to die?” my mother asks me as I stare blankly into my plate as though it’s some kind of fascinating thing.
I gaze up slowly with a surge of electricity flowing through me.
“Yes, but my survival has kept me alive,” I say with an alien confidence.
“If it’s survival, why don’t you just end it?"

Those were the last words of the conversation. Of the night. You didn’t need or want anymore.

My mother subtly supports my suicide.

When you return home you flee to the darkness of your room. Labyrinth of doom. You don’t cry, you just don’t understand.

My mother. She claims to love me yet, here she stands promoting my death. Maybe if I killed myself she’d understand... Maybe then I’d understand… I am nothing…


February 2004

You walk to school shivering. Cold. Alone. Not only are your limbs frozen into a statue figure of ache, your heart and mind are too frosted with pain. The ugly snowflake. Forever imperfection without forgiveness.
Sitting through hell you stay quiet to silence the insecurities toxifiying your mind in a poison of severity that not even you can comprehend. You're crying on the inside but no one hears. No one cares. No one even knows. Building an oblivion army against yourself.
Swelled in lachrymal tears you plead to apologize for being everything you were. Everything you are. By the time you see him you've lost your gut. Spineless a voice inside you cackles.

I regret acting like a bitch, but it's hard when you hurt in a way foreign to your usual demise.

The day continues just the same for you. By 7th you are burning on the inside with emotions like waves against rocks. You want to run or maybe just sleep. Find a peace like you used to. Something that the rain would once heal but now only makes you cold and sickly.

I sit here. Crouching. Hiding. Facade to myself. I plan a violence to myself. I would slice myself a perfect line across my stomach for everytime I afflicted someone I cared about, just so I could remember my own failure. A scar to offer meager homage for all the faded laughter, for all the wrecked smiles.

You are sorry for letting go

I am sorry am sorry for letting go. I didn’t mean to. I guess it was all true. Everything that was said. I am broken. I am mislaid. It is my burden, not because of you but because of me.


December 2003

You quiver crouching down low in a rainy park alley. Soaked to the bone he holds you close in his arms. You intertwine his hand with yours- you don’t want to let go but know someday you’ll have to let go…
Björk is cooing soft melodies from your headphones. The music makes you swoon as it intermingles with the sound of rain against metal and concrete.

Right now I feel the suffocating desire to tell you my secrets. I am submerged in idealism. I would commit promises to you if you asked it of me- you never would though.

As you both walk back through the wet field a piece of you breaks off to stay in the alley. It’s small enough to go on without, but big enough to have reached a goal. A part of you was happy. When you reach the parking lot before you leave he kisses you. You like it.

He kisses me soft. Sweet. Quick. Pure. Snow. Innocent. Nervous. It isn’t like those other rough boys. Hard spiked tequila shot moshing embraces that always leave me torn and confused. It was nice for once. I like not having to feel ripped, wasted, or sick after. Just nice, something to leave me wanting more but too afraid to obtain.

You’re running home flailing violently with anticipation for something more to happen. All smiles and gutter glitter but much shinier than usual.

A Few Weeks Later

You talk to one of your best friends, exclaiming you’ve found a boy that you really care about. She asks questions that in many ways you have no answer to. You tell her he snowboards and talks about the mountains. How it makes you listen to softer music more and muse over the aurora. She doesn’t really understand parts but then again neither do you. After you’re done she tells you things.

I told her about it- we were both baffled by the end in a lost state of oblivion. Afterwards she foretold something that will forever scare me. She said I would care for once. She said in end I would cry over him not because I was confused but because for once I couldn’t just walk away but was instead left immobile, broken, and mislaid. I didn’t know what to say so silence became my #1 answer.

Secretly you know she might be right…


October-November 2003

Your “best friend” makes you feel like shit along with everyone. She’s found a new duck and suddenly doesn’t take so kindly to others that he doesn’t “approve” of. On Halloween they make out in your garage while you wander around feeling very awkward and unwanted in your own home.

I’m sitting here taking the blame for her shit. Moms bitching at me because of all this crap about someone I already detest of. Why?!


September 2003

You wake suddenly from a deep slumber glaring at the clock- 1:30 A.M.- to the screams and thrashes of your mother. She’s spiraled down as an addict this summer though you’ve seen it since you were young. You’ve been watching her fall and not being able to do a damn thing for her or anyone else in the family. Ever night for a whole summer you’ve been crying yourself to sleep, rocking yourself back and forth and wishing it could all just be deleted. Easy as your computer. Delete the file, get rid of the virus.
You cry violently in the shower as the hot water scalds your back.

I’m up at 1:30 A.M. in the fucking morning for the first day of school and I can’t handle this shit! Nothing from Korn to Portishead can drown out the sorrowful emotions that lie within me. Crouching demons strangling me. I want out! I need help!

For what seems like forever you sit in front of the computer doing your makeup. Ersatz eyes of doom. You do it over and over. Every tear of frustration drips black marker stains across your cheeks. You throw the mirror across the room. It doesn’t shatter, but you wish it had.

I am already broken. I already have bad luck.
I was never an angel but I still had wings. I pretended to at least. Demons crippled them. Played nasty tricks on me so they could steal them and I could never fly away.
I joined the wicked fiends. My goddess became Misery. My muse grew to Pain. My eyes blackened to stormy clouds that would never shed rainbows.

Through the whole morning you plead with your mom to go back to sleep until you finally depart to school.
You don’t do well there.
In half your classes you’re asleep. Teachers ask you if you’re okay but you just blank out silently. No answer. You know that if you told them it would only make things worse. Somethings are just unfixable.
The end of the day comes and you run home. When you get there everything is quiet. You can hear your heart beat and you don’t like it. Unsteady. Unsure.
There’s a note saying they were driving to St. Helena. Driving to St. Helena to admit her into Crucher’s rehabilitation center…
You collapse crying hysterically.

Why the fuck am I crying?! She needs it. I want her to be in there! But shit… I can’t fucking handle it. I can’t handle my own damn life… I am nothing…

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something i had written back in 8th grade