02:46 - Sunday, Jan. 23, 2005
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Its not like noone knows. Everyone knows. We all just pretend it didn't happen. Its easier that way. It helps everyone else sleep at night.
I have a confession to make. I have a predisposition to losing control of myself...blah blah blah.. ok lets get real. I was having a fucked up semester. The privacy I so covet was getting trampled by Shamus' jealous friends--a bunch of weight toting gym bunnies, whose bellies are as big as their biceps. The kind of guys who try to revel in their manliness all the while gossiping like a bunch of fucking yentas.--yeah these are the guys who were trying to guilt my boyfriend into being one of those assholes who hates his girlfriend. Am I the fucked up one? Am I so delusional to think that a boyfriend and girlfriend shoud be- gasp -- friends. I must be fucking nuts because I think you're supposed to enjoy each other's company, not spend your time trying to figure out ways to get away from each other. If you don't like each other, break up, move the fuck on, but don't point your judgemental fingers in my direction. Don't try and infect my healthy relationship with the one disease that's killing yours. I swear, this kid has been with his girl for almost 5 years now, and hates her. She's waiting for her diamond while he's looking for something new. And he's giving Shamus relationship advice!!! SO he was coming home with his friends' rhetoric flowing out of his mouth. And I would find myself indirectly arguing with all of his friends. This is why I hate GIRLS!!! Jesus the fucking petty back and forth, "you're not my friend anymore because you have a girlfriend" "you never hang out anymore without your girlfriend" "you're whipped" "you're a pussy" " this one hates you and that one hates you" AND SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! Can't anyone else see that we're happy? I haven't been this happy in years. All of a sudden I'm having sunshine on cloudy days, with the whole nine yards, bluebirds, cupids, cartoon hearts beating in my eyes...and these fuckheads want to ruin that...and my boyfriend is too fucking sweet to stop them, and too fucking dense to see past them to the fucking torture they're putting me through. I tried everything, ok? We talked about it, and he said he understood, but the next day it was the same shit. I cried about it and he said he'd stop, but two days later, the same old shit. I made fucking charts and drew pictures and used smaller words, but nothing got through, and finally one night I swallowed a bottle of pills. It wasn't the best idea, I'll admit, but I didn't know how else to tell him that all of this shit was hurting me, it was killing me. So I made myself dying art, and boy was it beautiful! The clarity was astounding, and I even reached out and tried to let my last breath revive the dying friendship I had with Nicole. The problem is that I'm still breathing. No one ever told me you could get high on pills, because after he yelled at me for taking them I found myself wandering the streets of Keansburg. I think I was looking for ciggarettes. I think that's how he found me. He tried to yell at me somemore, then finally tried to talk to me, and when that didn't work he called the police. Then came the paramedics, then I puked. Then came Riverview with a hazy crowed of teal scrubs, and electrodes stuck to my skin. And then we passed out on the little tiny hospital cot, the two of us a tangle of arms and legs. Then this little dyke of a bitch, came it to lecture me and tell me they would have to admit me. (so i really thought they would just let me go home and sleep it off. The pills were out of my system.) So they put me in the looney bin. Oh yes, Girl Interrupted style. Levels and everything. I came in wearing flip flops, but they still took my shoelaces away. q15 is when they you first get there and you are checked on every 15 minutes level one means you can't have strings or laces or anything. you have to eat all your meals on the unit. you aren't allowed to leave the unit at all actually. level two means you get to eat your meals in the cafeteria, and you get to go on four smoke breaks in the courtyard, and to the gym or outside for groups. Oh yes, groups. meetings that accomplish nothing. at least while I was there. during the week I hear they are productive. I was there for thanskgiving. there was no turkey for me. my mom tried to bring me chicken, but it was raw. I tried my best not to cry that day, but even shamus went and ate turkey and stuffing and pumpkin pie while i sat watching a fat black woman with a lazy eye try to sing "wild thing" into a karaoke mic. It was like summer camp meets the old folks home spiced with some crazy. There was so much time on our hands we were going crazy. Instead of trying to get better, all I did was try to go home. Every moment I spent inside those yellow painted concrete cinder block walls was torture. I half expected to make lanyards and macramame. I made friends in there. The cutter from Rutgers who believed she was Buddhist, or the addict who'd had a love affair with the sister of the girl from that 70s Show..but the only one that kept in touch with me was Trevor. If I could find a girl to love him I would. He's such a sweet kid, but like all of us he got dealt some bad cards. The two of us would sit on the couches during visiting hours making crazy faces at the families of our innmates...whatever, they thought we were nuts, so why not give them what they expected. I made a little girl cry just by smiling. I laughed for an hour. I didn't die that night. i didn't want to really. i'll never do it again....i never want to put my family through that...shit, i'm way too vain to actually want to die. out of my system, out of my mind...but something i'll never regret.
