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December 3rd, 2010
My therapist wants me to start journaling my thoughts. Ever since our first appointment in August she has been encouraging me to define my thinking and express it onto paper. I don’t want a record of my thoughts. Talking to myself only reminds me of how I have no one else to talk to, besides Linda whom my mother pays per hour. She wants me to write about what we talk about. Linda is not someone I even want to hold conversations with. She sits, like ice floating on a pond, calm, cool, collected, and bobbing her head once and a while. She must think the same about me. Ice that is. Stepping on me the wrong way and I will break. Everyone thinks I am fragile, or have already shattered altogether. I would say I just melted under the pressure.
Oh, Linda tells me I should take up poetry. It’s hard to motivate yourself to create beautiful writing when there is no one around to listen…or beautiful for that matter.
December 5th, 2010
I slept in late today, until 5. I didn’t feel like going to school. The first snow of the winter layered the ground today. My mother left me some change on the counter so I could take the bus to therapy. I can’t remember the last time I was in an actual car, especially with my mother. She’s a doctor at the East Hills hospital across town. I embarrass her. She gets home at late hours, so we don’t have much time to talk. Neither of us put forth the effort to talk.
Linda asked me why I am still not taking my medicine, I didn’t have an answer. She told me it relates to Brice and I am hiding underlying actions. I think she was pushing me to talk about him, or the hospital. I have nothing to talk about. Brice left me; he wouldn’t be talking about me either.
I decided today would be my first attempt at a poem, so maybe Linda will start talking to me more about haikus and sonnets, and maybe less about me.
I looked out.
My eyes glinted at the streets icing.
The cold hitting the glass like smoke.
December 6th, 2010
Mom was up watching the news again last night. She has watched it every night since he left. She was glued to the report on Iraq at 12:30 in the morning. I don’t like listening to the news. John is a soldier. He has been ever since I was little. He used to read me bed time stories and squeeze into my bed until I would fall asleep. Every night his whispered in my ear “my little piece of heaven.” My mom is married to my dad; my dad is married to a foreign country. Heaven doesn’t exist anymore.
December 7th, 2010
31 556 926 more seconds
525 948.766 more minutes
8 765.81277 hours
365 more days
One more unwanted year
Another year has wasted away. I hate birthdays; memories hit me like a freight train and leave me breathless. This birthday is different. There are no tears being shed. My brother is gone, my father is gone, but I have trained my mind to accept that. To stop remembering, to stop thinking. Today I can’t, but I am not sad. I’m angry. He promised we would be sitting on the beach in LA for my birthday. Here I am, seventeen years old, and where is he? Probably in the arms of some other girl who will never care about him the way I did. Do. What happened to laying under the stars on summer nights, and making me sit in the car until he opened my door for me? He took my happiness away from me. He took my love away from me. I hate thinking about him, I never do. But today I can’t help it. He never gave me a reason for leaving. He took the laughter, the smiles, and the fun from me. Things I have yet to get back. Chris took those things from me. I hate him, I hate that I loved him. I hate loving him. I hate missing him. I hate him.
I wish he was here.
December 9th, 2010
I slept in late again. Sleep is the only thing that soothes me anymore. It’s like being on a cloud, somberly floating. Peaceful, and blank. I like blank. I don’t want to be able to think. Mom left me an envelope with the change today, and a note. Telling me to take it to the post office. It’s going to the state prison. Sending more money. I don’t think my brother needs anymore money. He was never around for me. He never had the consideration for our family. I shoved the envelope in the post office mail box anyways. Brice will be happy.
December 10th, 2010
I need to leave, I cannot live here anymore. The world is crashing down with weight I can’t bearably hold. I have nothing holding me here. I have no one wanting me here. I’m nothing. The only one I have left is my mom. My dad has been shot. I woke up to the telephone ringing this morning. They had a stranger tell my mom that he didn’t make it. She’s devastated. She told me it’s my fault, that I drove him away. That I am just an embarrassment to our broken down family. That the hospital won’t look at her the same after my incident, that they blame her. Linda told me she was just upset, and upset people do things they regret. That’s funny, because I was upset. And I don’t regret my incident.
December 12th, 2010
Tranquility, peace within my veins
Quiet, somber, forgotten pain
Put past me moving forward
Decisions I have made
Looking for heaven, being in heaven
I want to be saved
Linda told me it was time to talk about the incident. I hate talking, she knows that. She asked how I felt in the hospital. My answer was lonely. She asked how I felt about what I did. I said discouraged. She asked how many pills I took. I couldn’t remember. She asked if I regretted it. I said no… She scribbled my words down on her not pad. I must have scowled; she asked me what the look was for, what I am thinking. The only words that came out were “I’m thinking I must stop thinking so my thoughts stop coming out.” Her face became contorted, and then she continued to write.
She added on five more weeks to my therapy sessions.
December 13th, 2010
Mom was planning out the funeral arrangements today. She was in a solemn mood and didn’t want me around. I also didn’t have therapy today; Linda’s daughter was having a baby. My mom still left me change on the counter; because she never had a chance to listen to me tell her. I took the change, and got on the bus. I rode around for a couple hours until I actually decided to go somewhere. I went to the jail. I wanted to talk to Brice. About dad, mom, Linda, everyone. After waiting, by myself, for an hour, a receptionist came out and told me he didn’t want to see me. I covered my face for the whole bus ride home. I don’t understand why I cared so much if he didn’t want to see me, why would I want to see him? He left me, and it was because of his decisions. He isn’t the same person I knew when I was little. Drugs change you.
December 14th, 2010
Orson Welles once said, “We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone.” I am not living an illusion; I am living a ghastly night mare. I was born with a brother, a brother who no longer exists. He is just a figment of public correction, a prisoner of addiction. I was born with a father. A father who loved me, who listened to me. I was his heaven from the harsh reality of the world. Now all I am left with is the bitter reality that he has been taken. I loved while living, a boy, who was my world. Who was my reasoning, my smile. That smile is gone, leaving a blank expression among my pale face. I am alone. Living alone. Welles is right. And we die alone. So why does it matter when we die. We all stay alone.
December 16th, 2010
My clock is ticking, my heart is cold
The admiration was lost in due time
I lose myself as the story unfolds
The cold breeze tingles down my spine
It’s time I go, I don’t need help
The silence I trust will cover moans
It’s loneliest when you don’t recognize yourself
It’s time for me to die alone.
And go to Heaven.