- I'm not sure how many people think about the time they were 16, 17, 18, when they are still 18. But a couple month ago seem like a couple centuries and I feel so old now.
- I don't even think I feel old, as in experienced, I feel old as in, I'm tired, I'm done, I think I've seen all I wanted to see of what I can see and will see.
- It seems bleak.
- I remember, sitting a on a plastic frog, 16 years old, eating the the sweetest green apple pie lollipop. A girl, I called my best friend, my sister- what did that ever mean in the end? I can't even say hello to her these days. I know I'm not worth her time and nor is she worth mine.
- I remember, the salt and fat of meat against my tongue, the burn of alcohol down my throat and the smiles for pictures and feeling so unhappy with my face and myself, and I remember how bland that boy from the bar was. He spoke bad english and never said goodbye. The door slammed in my face, and I stared on icily. I felt, bad, horrid, I wanted to roll my head back and keep on downing shot after shot, trying to forget. I remember trying to forget. And I don't know why I drank because I just remembered more. Feeling alone and left behind... like they had never made a mistake before. I didn't forgive them for never forgiving me.
- I remember I felt so strange on that bus back to New Jersey. I was still buzzing with the excitement of a stranger's touch, the warmth that slowly glowed in my belly as I remembered how I fit into his arm and how his mouth brushed against mine. I threw up from the drugs, and I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand, heart pounding in chest, dreading the night to come, a night to spend alone. I loved this chemical reaction burning through my brain, the drugs, finally I had the perfect drug dealer and I was falling in love with him after one day and after two, I burned the bridges that were holding me back, and I sunk into his arms.
- And then I remember all the times I was slowly giving up everything to him, it began small but from the beginning I think I would have done anything for him to like me. If he wanted me, he would have me. If he wasn't satisfied then he could have whatever else he liked. I remember the walks out to the bus stop and cooking him little meals and his smiles and hugs and kisses and the way my heart broke when I started to find out little by little I was not... exactly what I thought I meant to him.
- But there were days when I'd be back on that sofa, eating little snacks, my old friend buzzing around me, but it wouldn't be the same. Before, we'd chatter endlessly about dreams and mindless gossip and I smile thinking about her now but out of no where, I became trash to everyone. I became someone who wouldn't amount to anything and everyone was too above me to socialize with me. I became surrounded by the smokers and drinkers and the students hiding out in a forest smoking boges. But I wrote their essays and did their homework because Katherine left me behind something, she taught me to have this value for knowledge and education and work and I think I've failed her now, but she doesn't know that. She doesn't care.
- But what my friend previous lacked, I found solace in cigarettes and from this one girl from New York. She cried when I cried, and when I saw her eyes watering up from my own watery eyes, my heart broke out of sorrow and grauity.
- Remember all those boys? The boy who went me a knife, the one who almost got me pregnant and the ones who smashed my face against walls and I suffered through slap to backhand to slaps over and over and I smiled and smiled and scoffed because it never really could ever hurt as much as I could hurt myself. I never bruised.
- But one day, my father, a shadow of person, he never spoke with any kind of invested emotion before, always remaining in a ghostly zone of neutrality, sat me down and slapped me over and over and over and I lost count but I didn't cry out and it hurt the first time but then I just became numb and numb and so numb and he told me to die on the streets being a drug whore whatever and told me if I didn't do so, he would just kill me and everyone who I had in my life, who would ever prove my existence on this place. I laughed. Imagine that, if I suddenly stopped existing and all trace of my life was nothing but a string of murders. Trash must be exterminated. When he said sorry my heart broke but I looked at the four purple lines on my face and I looked in the mirror and scoffed and called myself gutter rat and grinned. I took one last glance before I started shoving clothes into my backpack. One last glance before I started to plan my departure. I never wanted to go back home.
- And then when the so called love of my life hit me, because I was psycho little bitch cunt, and I had crawled under his skin with needles under my fingernails, he smacked me,my skull bounced off the wall and I bit through the side of my mouth and blood splashed on the wall and drooled onto my shirt, I was astonished and dizzy and everything was blurry and went black until I swam to surface of reality and opened my eyes again. I felt drunk, and as I stumbled upwards dragging my bloody fingers on the wall and people were holding my elbow trying to keep me up and steady and I waved them off because I thought I was fine but I fell again and I cleaned up... went to see him and it was... normal. His nerves wee frayed and I spat blood all the time but I felt numb. Like it wasn't really real, I couldn't feel angry or like I deserved better. I don't think I did. Today it's not bloody lips, it's a gun pointed at my head and sometimes I say, "just do it," as blandly as I can and sometimes I can't stand it and I'm pointing it at myself and sometimes I'm crying and telling him to just shoot, just shoot out of horrid hatred for this joke of a life that is mine.
- Imagine this. A gun is suprisingly heavy. My trembling hands. With some struggle, I cock it back and hold it to my temple. It jams.
- I called that girl one day. I called a couple of my old friends, see what they'd say.
- Life is a joke, I'd laugh bitterly, a fucking joke. The star athlete of the family is a cripple, I am a drug whore, they miss me then they hate me, I'm abused and broken, I'm homeless and starving and I am just chasing high after high after high.
- So, why don't you just get your own apartment and go to college? Just get a job and save up money.
- I make $6 an hour working at a bubble tea store. A large drink of bubble tea is $4. Saving money, its a joke. I'm used to my face, my face and my wit; there. A quick $2000. Or 1000, 1200, 200, 500, 700, 1500. And I suffered for that money. Had to make sounds and faces I didn't want to make. Had to run away and hide in fear. Had to numb out my mind so that I couldn't feel it. Each and everytime though, I wished I'd meet someone psycho enough to kidnap me and just kill me. So I thought I was somebody else. Thought like that get you nowhere. I poured chemical after chemical down my throat, up my nose so I wouldn't start cutting my skin open to see how I really am inside. (That failed miserably)
- When I think about... whoever... I want to claw my eyes out and rip my mouth open and just destroy destroy destroy. dirty dirty dirty
- One time, I was in jersey, and I found out that my best friend has gone missing. Fingers pointed at me, and I broke under the pressure and I became the criminal. I screamed and screamed and screamed.
- One time, I was in jersey, and I found out the love of my life fucked my best friend. I screamed, and screamed and screamed.
- I wanted her to be okay. I still loved her but I just wanted to kill her and spit in her face and peel off her skin. I wanted to tell her that she shouldn't have followed me down the rabbit hole, that there are better feelings than numbness, better feelings than some stupid chemical reaction dancing in your brain. I wanted to hug her and tell her that things will be okay... we could have the storybook life everyone else seemed to be living.
- And then I found out, my only and last hope was an illusion. Smoke and mirrors again. Like most of the people I had met, dishonesty seems to run in most people these days. Hidden agendas and everyone out there seems to chasing their own sense of pleasure.
- Right now I feel terribly numb and not much of anything really.
- When you're sobbing, clinging onto the dusty bumper of some random car... All I was thinking was, I want to go home. Things are clicking into perspective, clicking back together.
- Click click click.
- I wore another human down. Brought him up, told him to live, told him life is not so bad, I'll always be there for him and then a year later I left because nurturing another life was depleting my own and so I said, just die see if I care.
- You wouldn't be able to imagine the bitterness on my face.
mar 5 2014 ∞
jan 19 2015 +