*I was looking for a picture of my mother on my myspace blog and I happened upon this old “Stream of Consciousness” I wrote in 07. I haven’t written in this style for a while so it’s always nice to review my old emotion in this raw form. It’s a bit dramatic, but enjoy:
It’s been a long while since I felt like this.
but I remember.
my arm can almost reach my notepad on the left side of the desk.
sonja had nair on something or other and had to go to work. i recall her telling me to call her at work around 3 her time. i heard the care in her voice, the worry. “don’t do anything to yourself chica, call me at 3, for real, call me.” I don’t have the number. and i don’t remember the name of her work place to look it up. she said it, but I was in a daze.
serge isn’t answering.
neither is jen.
i’ll be bald, from pulling out clumps of hair, by the time someone consoles my inner crazies with words.
it’s really no one’s responsibility to console me. i’m a big girl. so when these tears lighten up i can try to attempt to sort of kind of work out what’s in my head.
cuz they’re not letting up.
so why here? why the fuck not. you’re all used to my ups and downs by now.
does it matter. where and how i let it out.
that damn notepad. ~~sigh~~
and my journal is in a box.
so instead I turned the computer screen around and pulled the keyboard to my chest. I love my my imac, but times like this are when owning a laptop would make things far less complicated.
the dot on the ceiling is fucking with me. so I’m scared to get up again…for fear that it will follow me around the house. It knows.
It knows when to appear and disappear in order to give me an excuse to stay plastered to my bed-sheets. staring at the ceiling is my excuse in present tense.
I wonder how long I can stare without blinking?
and I remember.
how excited I was when I had 14 messages on my phone from him after coming back from italy. honestly I thought he was a little crazy, but I appreciated his love nonetheless. i was crazy about him. i was 17…or 16…17 I think. and we were too tight, he and I. you couldn’t paint a prettier fucking picture, better looking couple…
in that moment.
when i heard his voice my stomach dropped. he had something to tell me. not that he didn’t love me. not that he didn’t miss me. nor that he wouldn’t be there if i decided to go to school in rome. only that he was human, and that…
he met someone. another girl. he hadn’t cheated. he spent some time with her, hung out with a few friends and her. slept the night…only slept, nothing else, but next to her.
I was silent.
he was confused. and in tears. and was sorry.
i didn’t ask any questions. i was too young and wet behind the ears to even consider discussing the options. discussing whether this meant he wanted to just get passed this “curiosity” or if it meant we were over. i didn’t ask the boy i loved so much what he wanted.
i decided for him, for us.
and that was it.
i had my pride, and no one was going to make me look like a fool. even if i loved them with all my being.
and that night I cried myself to sleep, shaking…not knowing all he wanted to do was love me, and shake off this road bump. my pride didn’t allow me the chance to see that.
so i cried. and it was the first time i felt “loss” in the pit of my gut. he was the first person I ever truly loved in that way they write about in storybooks.
but i turned it off, and cried myself to sleep.
the dot on the ceiling is aiding in these depressing memories of mine. in a sad almost hallucinogenic sort of way.
helping me remember.
how we just painted the bedroom walls.
she wanted a dramatic color. so dramatic, in fact, we went with the bottom of the choices on the paint samples.
we just painted all the walls come to think of it, the living room, dining room, hallway, bathroom, and black for the kitchen. everyone thought we were crazy painting the kitchen black. but we did, and it rocked socks. we rocked socks. it couldn’t get much sweeter than the light that emitted when we put our heads together. when we were everything people thought we were. when people stopped us in the street to say how fucking beautiful we were. it was that sweet.
but cozy kitchens don’t make up for lost time, or tight wallets, or any of the other stress we were feeling when we should have been just smiling and living. it all happened so fast, so soon…all the responsibility came crashing down on us like glaring sunlight on PCH at high noon. not to mention the fact that i’d lost my mother just prior to all of this “newness.” and then she was living across the U.S. from the only family she knew.
we had just painted the bedroom…
when she decided to leave.
she didn’t say she no longer loved me, nor that she wanted to end it.
I was silent.
I let her book her ticket without so much of a peep.
I let her pack her bags without saying a word.
I wouldn’t let her touch me. it pissed her off.
i tried not to care. tried not to look at her.
she was walking away from the life we just barely started to grow into.
so i said fuck it, cuz this isn’t love if you can leave it.
so my pride turned it off.
the last few days before her flight weren’t pretty. we were like two pitbulls in the fighting pin. one wrong look sent us over the edge.
she was stubborn. instead of respecting the space i put between us to cushion my heart, she cut me with words out of hurt. and i cut back.
it was a merry go round of sorts.
it was a still ride to the airport. a quiet goodbye.
nothing like the brightness we’d shown the year prior to that night.
when I got home i cried myself to sleep. my sensitive skin was red from rubbing my eyes, the pillow was drenched, as well as the 3 feet diameter around my head. i was a river of tears. they wouldn’t stop. i felt like i lost my will to breath, lost what made my heart beat.
so i cried.
that was over two years ago, I think.
funny how pain feels the same, no matter the cause, no matter the day.
~~stares at screen~~
if there’s one thing i can do right now, it’s that. i have no idea what else i plan on doing, how i plan on handling this…
but i know how to cry. and it’s all i feel like doing. because in this moment, i remember why. and at the very least i’m proud of myself for finally…saying something. maybe i’m an idiot. maybe it’s huge smack of karma for that ass. but at least i wasn’t silent. at least i didn’t walk away blindly for once.
i didn’t know giving a shit would hurt this much.
the phone is ringing.
it was jen. trying to make me feel better. nothing is going to do that, right now.
she was attempting to make me laugh again, “people are like those chinese subtitles; if you can’t turn them off, walk away from the TV.”
i told her ok. thank you for trying to make me smile. but i had no words that could make it out of my mouth besides, “ok” and coughing, choking tearful spit talk. only lethargic text on my computer screen seems to be calming me.
“I’ll call you back when I’m done writing”
“ok, just don’t do anything stupid T. i love you, i’m here. please don’t be sad. don’t be.”
wtf am i going to “do?”
i can’t even find the drive to get the hell back up.
i have photos to edit, files to resize, clients to call and email, gigs & appts to book, jewelry to design, samples to approve, illustrations to start & finish.
id rather lay here.
seppi’s the only thing that’s going to get me up, cuz i have to take him on another walk soon.
the screen is getting blurry. the dot is bouncing around the walls. it might as well become a demo ball, and knock me in the head.
might as well.
is it strange that i let my dog lick the tears off my face?
it’s an open bar today. tomorrow, the next…not sure if I’ll run out this time.
my phone is buzzing. thank god for unlimited text. ha. yeah, thank god.
my phone is ringing now. I don’t recognize the number. When I answer it’s mel. she’s at work.
“I’m sorry about last night. I was out of line. we both were out of line. I don’t want to have anymore conversations like that with you, ok?”
I’m trying to make my voice as normal as possible while speaking. It’s not working.
“Are you ok, what’s wrong, what happened?”
I told her I was fine. “nothing” happened. I would work through it.
“are you sure?” she said. I told her yeah, so she hung up to get back to work.
I wasn’t lying.
I’m feeling the “something” that is in the depth of my soul, from the “nothing” left in the gaping whole of my heart.
first i wanted to be consoled, now i want to be left alone.
who wants to speak to the grim reaper anyhow?
this is way to fucking long to be normal. I’m sure no one will get through to the end of it. I guess I’ll make it preferred, or delete it.
If I keep it, happy reading, I hope I didn’t depress you.
forgive the grammar mistakes.
I’m done now.
(originally posted September 17, 2007 on Myspace)