Whatsername And Suicide - Where Have We Gone Wrong?
Six - Sit back and let us die slowly
I’ve kept a journal since I was 8…
You know those active anorexics? The runners who run in rain, shine, snow or sleet, they have to get their time in, their exercise for that day, those miles. They have to.
I’ve always been an anorexic writer, early, late, tired, awake, I write. I have to, because after I finish putting it all down I’m calm, and I’m fine. At least for a little while…
My first journal had a plushy green cover with bears eating honey on it, the pages didn’t tear out easy and they’re a mess of pencil and pen and drawings and words I can’t read now even if I wanted to. I have 15 filled so far, and filled 3 alone last year….these pages are the only place I feel I can talk and not be interrupted or talked down on, thought of as stupid or young for my age.
Cream pages and a black ink pen was my refuge and god help you if you dare to sneak a peek because believe me…I’ll know.
My current journal is a spiral bound book with a black cover and back
I hate school, I hate school, I hate school printed across it.
Writing down my thoughts is kind of like thinking them back to myself, only organized this time. Stretched out on the living room floor at 2 am as I wrote, I realized it could be a stupid idea incase –
“What are you doing??”
“Christ!” I jumped a mile, again, and snapped my journal closed, Adam was standing over me.
“Writing…not much…what are you doing up?”
My question went ignored…
“Yeah? What are you writing?” He sat down next to me and I sat up, my journal in hand, he tried to take it from me but I pulled away
“It’s about me huh?”
“No,” I lied…because it was.
“Liar,” he grabbed my book and flipped it open to a random page and I violently protested with a yell and a pretty childish “No! Give it! It’s mine!”
“It doesn’t matter, I can’t read…” he said with a shrug and tossed it back to me after flipping a few pages.
“You what?”
“Yeah, never learned how…”
“No way, how did you graduate?”
Adam shrugged again “Math and sports I guess”
“You seriously can’t read?”
“No, names, road signs, simple stuff yeah, not books. or…” he motioned to my journal
“No one can read my handwriting anyways…You could always learn. To read I mean, not to read my handwriting.”
He scoffed “For auto decal? I don’t need to read for that.”
I shrugged and slipped my journal safely into my book bag…We both sat there for a moment, he wasn’t lying; Now I know why he was squinting at the signs along the coast when we went out. I was relieved some, but also puzzled, it might account for some of his anger, he’s not included in what 89% of people do every single day without even thinking about it. If I couldn’t read or write I think I might die…
“When was the last time you were kissed?”
My thoughts totally broken, I looked up at him to find him staring at me, my mind went back a few times to memories before I answered.
“That was random…”
“Not really, I’ve been wanting to ask….How long?”
“Never.” I answered, and then I wanted to kick myself for being so truthful, I should’ve lied, he wouldn’t have known the difference. I was 15 and had never been kissed, even after 2 boyfriends. If that’s not failure I don’t know what is.
“What? Get out! Why not?”
I shrugged “I’ve never liked anyone enough, whatever, you?”
“It’s been…” he though a moment, “a few months now I guess. 2 or 3…shit. A long time.”
I laughed “That’s just eternity.”
He smiled sheepishly and told me to shut up, then ‘C’mere’
I maybe shouldn’t have, with his mood swings and lifestyle and unpredictability, and age, but I did, I leaned against him. He put his arm around me and we just stayed that way for awhile.
He kissed me a little later, when I wasn’t expecting it, when I really really wasn’t expecting it. Right after he’d told me what a sister I was to him. Right after he’d told me about his own family, and how he’d been adopted. Right after he’d told me about his ex and his heartbreak. Right after he’d made me feel sorry for him, and had even cried some right in front of me. I didn’t have the heart to tell him no, or that I didn’t like it, or anything except to just kiss him back and send him to bed.
You know those active anorexics? The runners who run in rain, shine, snow or sleet, they have to get their time in, their exercise for that day, those miles. They have to.
I’ve always been an anorexic writer, early, late, tired, awake, I write. I have to, because after I finish putting it all down I’m calm, and I’m fine. At least for a little while…
My first journal had a plushy green cover with bears eating honey on it, the pages didn’t tear out easy and they’re a mess of pencil and pen and drawings and words I can’t read now even if I wanted to. I have 15 filled so far, and filled 3 alone last year….these pages are the only place I feel I can talk and not be interrupted or talked down on, thought of as stupid or young for my age.
Cream pages and a black ink pen was my refuge and god help you if you dare to sneak a peek because believe me…I’ll know.
My current journal is a spiral bound book with a black cover and back
I hate school, I hate school, I hate school printed across it.
Writing down my thoughts is kind of like thinking them back to myself, only organized this time. Stretched out on the living room floor at 2 am as I wrote, I realized it could be a stupid idea incase –
“What are you doing??”
“Christ!” I jumped a mile, again, and snapped my journal closed, Adam was standing over me.
“Writing…not much…what are you doing up?”
My question went ignored…
“Yeah? What are you writing?” He sat down next to me and I sat up, my journal in hand, he tried to take it from me but I pulled away
“It’s about me huh?”
“No,” I lied…because it was.
“Liar,” he grabbed my book and flipped it open to a random page and I violently protested with a yell and a pretty childish “No! Give it! It’s mine!”
“It doesn’t matter, I can’t read…” he said with a shrug and tossed it back to me after flipping a few pages.
“You what?”
“Yeah, never learned how…”
“No way, how did you graduate?”
Adam shrugged again “Math and sports I guess”
“You seriously can’t read?”
“No, names, road signs, simple stuff yeah, not books. or…” he motioned to my journal
“No one can read my handwriting anyways…You could always learn. To read I mean, not to read my handwriting.”
He scoffed “For auto decal? I don’t need to read for that.”
I shrugged and slipped my journal safely into my book bag…We both sat there for a moment, he wasn’t lying; Now I know why he was squinting at the signs along the coast when we went out. I was relieved some, but also puzzled, it might account for some of his anger, he’s not included in what 89% of people do every single day without even thinking about it. If I couldn’t read or write I think I might die…
“When was the last time you were kissed?”
My thoughts totally broken, I looked up at him to find him staring at me, my mind went back a few times to memories before I answered.
“That was random…”
“Not really, I’ve been wanting to ask….How long?”
“Never.” I answered, and then I wanted to kick myself for being so truthful, I should’ve lied, he wouldn’t have known the difference. I was 15 and had never been kissed, even after 2 boyfriends. If that’s not failure I don’t know what is.
“What? Get out! Why not?”
I shrugged “I’ve never liked anyone enough, whatever, you?”
“It’s been…” he though a moment, “a few months now I guess. 2 or 3…shit. A long time.”
I laughed “That’s just eternity.”
He smiled sheepishly and told me to shut up, then ‘C’mere’
I maybe shouldn’t have, with his mood swings and lifestyle and unpredictability, and age, but I did, I leaned against him. He put his arm around me and we just stayed that way for awhile.
He kissed me a little later, when I wasn’t expecting it, when I really really wasn’t expecting it. Right after he’d told me what a sister I was to him. Right after he’d told me about his own family, and how he’d been adopted. Right after he’d told me about his ex and his heartbreak. Right after he’d made me feel sorry for him, and had even cried some right in front of me. I didn’t have the heart to tell him no, or that I didn’t like it, or anything except to just kiss him back and send him to bed.
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