Thursday, April 27, 2006


I didn't know how her death was going to affect me.

Today, I came home after a long day and found myself looking forward to another usual weekend away with her.

But it wasn't until after I finished writing my last post... and on my way to my fridge to stash my pizza... that I realized:

She is gone.

I can't visit her this weekend.

I fell to my floor, pizza box in hand.

I cradled my face in my hands and lay on my floor, unable to do anything else but cry and cry because she is dead and I can't ever go to see her, talk to her about life, touch her soft skin, hold her soft hands, play with her soft her, help care for her...

I am so sad.

I am starting to cry all over again.

I hate that she is gone.

She was the only person, the only home, I ever went to when I needed to feel safe and alive.

I am so angry she is dead.

I am so angry I dressed her for her funeral.

I am so angry I gave her eulogy.

I am so angry I can never see her again.

... Mother's Day is around the corner...

I haven't talked to my family since her death.

I don't want to.

I don't care...

I just want her back...

Saved by the Bell

"Of all the thirty-six alternatives, running away is the best." Chinese Proverb

PROFILE: 1. n. the shape of something, esp. the face... a concise biographical description... any short historical, geographical or other descriptive sketch in writing... 2. v.t. pres. part. profiling past and past part...

This "profile" section on my blog site confuses me. I always change and update it, never 100% content with what I "profile" myself as. I am anonymous to you so it shouldn't matter... it should actually be easier than harder if anything. Except that I still struggle with categorizing who I am because I feel like I am always evolving, as we all are.

The only constant is change.

I revisited the local rape crisis center for another intake with the director to pursue counseling... once again. I hate I am "back at square one." My head knows this is not the case but my heart just doesn't feel the same way. I fully recognize that as I get older, I develop more insight into my life - what it is and what I want it to be. But when I look at it from the outside in, I see an incredible, dynamic, attractive and thriving young woman who is frozen in fear and lonelinessss from her life's traumatic, painful, gut-wrenching experiences. I see myself trying to turn around and move forward but I can't because I am rapidly spiraling down a dark and cold tunnel. My rapist is holding my hand. And in my other hand, my father's favorite handle of whiskey.

I am being yanked down this tunnel by my past's two heaviest components.

I am at a total loss.

I have been trying to connect with this director for the last two months for yet another intake. I tried counseling again at the start of the year, but I never returned... something about it just didn't feel right. I was angry. Very angry that I was in that room again. All I remembered: The first time I cried in front of a counselor was in this room.

It was during the time I contracted a suicide agreement. I promised my counselor, in writing, that I would call her these given days and times to confirm I was still alive. And if she didn't hear from me within ten minutes of our agreed time slots, I gave her permission to call the cops to my home incase I had attempted yet another overdose.

It was the absolute most lowest of low times in my life.

I didn't want to be in that room again.

But today:

I have this suicide contract framed in my bathroom. I must see it everyday. I must begin each day with this contract standing right beside me as I shower, brush my teeth, apply mascara, make myself look pretty, etc... I must remind myself:

Even when in the deepest of holes, I can - and will - have the strength to dig myself out. I just have to believe.

And I do have the strength to do it. Standing before my suicide contract every single day is my evidence.

Wow - I had no idea I was going to tell you about that. See why I need to drink so much wine these days??! I feel myself holding back so much inside of me. I have to let it all go. I have to let it all out...

Anyhow, every single time the Rape Crisis Center has returned my call to schedule another intake, I flake. I never return her call to confirm a time. I just don't want to do it. I hate talking about my rape. What good is it going to do anymore? It's not going to change what Jay did to me. It's not going to erase it. It's not going to erase the fact that my birthday marks the anniversary of my rape, or the fact that Jay was my first experience with a man... ever... including my first kiss. None of that will ever change... so I don't understand how talking about old shit is going to help me with letting in the new shit.

My cell phone rang at 8:30 this morning. It was a restricted call, which I NEVER answer. The director left a voice mail saying she had a 9:30 am available today or next Monday afternoon worked for her. I called her right back and scheduled the 9:30 am meeting.

We met and talked for an hour. I was very tired. I didn't want to go to work afterwards, which is always how I feel after I have a counseling session - it just takes everything out of me... I am completely numb and drained for the remainder of the day.

She is going to have a counselor contact me soon to begin sessions next week. I am quite nervous about returning to counseling but I can't avoid it any longer... I don't know what is going to come out. And that is what scares me the most. I am so shut down with what I feel that it is getting in the way of my life. Even she noticed that (she knows me by now). She even asked me, "And what kind of way is that to live? To not let yourself REALLY feel anything inside? To just put it all aside and not recognize that it's okay to feel what you are feeling? To not be afraid of how powerful these emotions can get sometimes?" (I explained the nightmares, hyperventilating, etc.)

She said she recognized that I have come a long way since I first started counseling there. And that it is perfectly okay and natural if I need more help and support. That as scary as it might be for me to explore everything I am hiding inside, she sees that there is a part of me that doesn't want to hide because I am so dedicated to my writing. (I explained that the hyperventilating comes when I am writing and I don't know how to control the physical reactions while in the middle of it all.)

Long story even longer, I don't know what's going to happen. I just know I'm on hold right now. My life feels like it's on hold. My writing is on hold. Everything is on hold as I dive into counseling once again. And I'm deathly afraid this is the most crucial, most emotional time in my life to get back into it. I don't really know why, but I foresee myself just not being able to hold it in anymore. And because of that, I know I DO need to go back. But that is also the very reason I DON'T want to go.

I just want to erase it.

But I know I can't. Life does not come with an eraser.

And I do appreciate, love and admire who I am today because of what I survived yesterday.

My head and my heart are just in two different places... and that, my dear reader, is a rape survivor's greatest struggle.

Book: The Truth About Rape
Author: Teresa M. Lauer, M.A.

"I don't want to talk about it; what's the point?"

+ A Clinical View

The Definition of Avoidance

You are remembering and reliving the rape and it's effect on you, a great deal of your time anyway. With the more formalized approach to resolving your issues that therapy will provide, or with your own self-study, you will begin to see the value of expressing your feelings about the rape.

You are avoiding emotions surrounding rape - a very useful, if you examine the behavior - method of avoiding pain. There is a difference, though between having successfully moved beyond a traumatic experience and continuing to avoid the emotions surrounding it. Avoidance of our emotions eventually leads, in many cases, to behavior that is unacceptable and painful to us.

The road to recovery is circuitous not linear, and you'll see that there are times when you just need to retreat as a turtle in its shell - take this time to take care of yourself; change takes place very slowly and occurs when you least expect it.

Taking Control of Avoidance

It's scary to feel the pain associated with rape. Sometimes it's overwhelming sad, depressing, terrifying, fearful - all at the same time and we wonder if we're ever going to feel the same as we did before the rape. You may feel that if you let your emotions out, if you allow yourself to really feel, you're not going to be able to stop - that you will slip down and be overcome by those feelings.

There are no magic pills we can take to get well; we must all walk the path of recovery in our own time. Coping with avoidance is not easy. Remnants from the rape can creep into many different facets of your life. You will know when it's right for you to start feeling and sharing aspects of the rape. Try on a small scale to venture inside yourself. Find a safe, supportive place to begin.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006


I doubt any of this will even make any sense to you but it makes sense to me:

I am drinking again in order to numb my pain and nightmares. I won't always be like this. It will be almost one year (in just a few weeks) that I haven't done any hard drugs - which is HUGE for me. And I haven't smoked pot in six weeks or so, with the exception of the three days after her funeral, but fuck that... that doesn't count. And I will have to reload, I think, this week.

But here it is:

I think I am a secret.

I can't explain but I know what I mean by that and that is all that matters. This is my blog, my writing, my journaling, my pain, anger, confusion, hurt, etc. blowing over in a healthy manner instead of a self-destructive manner so I shouldn't have to explain.

But I think I am a secret. That is why so much time has passed and nothing.

I think it's done.

I think I am done here now.

I can find a job anywhere.

I can find a home anywhere.

I only stayed because I found out she was sick. And what was a few years out of my entire life to spend with her? It was nothing in the big picture of it all. So I stayed here to be close to her, to stay near to visit every weekend, to love her as often as humanly possible.

But now she is dead. And I don't understand what else I am here for.

I think I need out.

I think I need to find a new life elsewhere.

I think I need to CREATE a new life elsewhere.

I have every reason to be happy, and I am happy. Except that something is missing.

Or am I being distracted?

I feel distracted. Unable to stay focused on the "prize" - WRITING.

What is bothering me? What is agitating me? Why do I feel like there is some kind of invisible wall standing between me and my ultimate passion? Why am I holding back? WHAT am I holding back?

I don't know.

I am just confused.

Maybe more confused than the normal human being.

Oh. Wait. Nope.

My excess confusion only proves I AM THE NORMAL human being.

So, then, it is settled.

I am NOT a secret.

I am a person.

I am just a person struggling to win the hand with the cards she was dealt.

Except it's not even about the game anymore.

It's not even about the players.

It's about the chips on the table.

It's about how much of yourself you are willing to accept and gamble in order to gain everything you know you deserve.

Lucky 7, just like my seven deadly sins.

I'm a secret... but not for very long.

10 Hours & Nothing

I went to sleep at 8 pm last night. So exhausted. So drained. Work was hard yesterday. But even after 10 hours of "sleeping," I still haven't really slept. I had dreams about her all night long. I woke up every hour or two, and every time I went back to "sleep", the dreams started right where they left off. I woke up drenched in sweat, feeling like I was hit by a bus. And I found myself crying most times I woke up last night, because I was crying in my dreams. Sweet. So I've gone from having nightmares about Jay, my rape, being chased, unable to move or cry for help to dreaming about her and waking up crying or unable to breathe.

I am very tired this morning. In bed for 10 hours, but only feeling like I've slept for no more than 10 minutes.

I miss her so much.

The only time I can remember where I didn't have trouble sleeping was last Saturday night. I stayed with a friend of mine, but left his house at 6 am because I was afraid that if I went back to sleep, I would wake up like I have been lately. I didn't want him to be witness to that. So I got dressed, grabbed my keys, kissed him goodbye, and drove the hour and a half home because I didn't know what else to do.

It will get better. I know it will. I just miss her. It just hasn't really hit me that she is gone. The dreams are making her death more real.

I don't like it.

Just have to keep muscling it...

It will get better. It has to. You have to go through the bad to get to the good. Everything happens for a reason. It all evens out in the end.

Okay, time to make a few more dollars today...

Sunday, April 23, 2006

Dear Anonymous,

I'm sorry but I totally disagree. I appreciate you reading, but I am not crying victim and purposely fueling an internal fire. I understand what you are trying to say, though, except that I don't - and have NEVER - labeled myself a victim of my past.

I hate the word VICTIM as much as I hate the word RAPE.

I am a survivor.

I am very sorry you were also raped. I appreciate you being able to relate to the feelings and confusion because you felt them once, too. Except I think you have missed the point entirely.

I am not dwelling. I hate that word, too.

I am reflecting because I am only human. Everyone reflects, thinks and feels different things and emotions about their lives as they ARE moving forward with their lives.

I am a writer. I write non-fiction, about life, who we are, things that do and don't happen, relationships, struggles, triumphs, etc., etc. No, not self-help crap. Just life in general. And the world. And how there is rhyme and reason to all of it. Everything I have survived thus far reminds me that it is the worst situations that bring out the best in all of us.

What you read about in this blog is a big part of who I am, but it is not all of who I am. I do not dwell and drown myself in my misery because I am unknowingly fueling the fire. I am just expressing emotions and feelings about hurtful moments and experiences.

And everyone has them. Not just me.

I apologize if I seem agitated, but your response reminds me of another anonymous reader (male reader) who responsed that I should just "get over it." I erased that post entirely just to erase him.

Another important note - I AM taking control of the situation by finally not running from it anymore. Many people who know me DO NOT know these things about my life. But that doesn't mean they didn't happen, and that they don't happen to others. I am allowing my past to rest, not burn because I am fueling it. I am slowly but surely making room for the new. I don't even know what else to say except: You may have been reading my words, but it doesn't sound like you were really listening.

Take Care of Yourself, Anon.

Friday, April 21, 2006

Dream World

I had dreams about her all night last night. I woke up at 4:30 am feeling so nauseous and weird. I went back to bed and had more dreams about her.

After having these dreams all night, it really hits me that she is gone when I wake up from them. I can feel how much more empty this world is without her. I can feel my heart slowly depleting when I realize it was only a dream.

I miss her so much already.

Life will never be the same.

I am not having nightmares about Jay and my rape anymore. Just dreaming about her now.

I can't tell which is more draining - being raped over and over or realizing my favorite person my entire life is dead.

I emailed around for some contacts for this fundraiser/non-profit we are starting.

But I suddenly don't even give a shit about any of that anymore.

Is this all it is? Life? Is this what it's all about??

Losing pieces of yourself, losing people you have loved so deeply, and losing yourself all the while you are trying so desperately to find yourself?

They say we spend a lifetime shaping who we are.

I have lived a million lifetimes already.

I am only 27 years old in this lifetime.

But, in reality, I have lived as long as God.

I have lived forever.

I am very, very tired.

I am the complete opposite outside of the writing in this blog. I have been described as funny, attractive, exotic, empathetic, outgoing, daring, smart, strong, fun, creative, adventurous, hard-working...the list goes on. What you read about in this blog... my broken feelings and memories... they are all only for here. Nowhere else. No one else.

I've been told I appear to have the perfect life.

Don't judge a book by its cover.

We all have our struggles, pains, angers and confusions.

It is evidence of normality existing in this messy world.

The more crazy we feel, the more normal we really are. The more I am just like you.

I am everywhere.

You see me everyday of your life.

I am the one passing you by on the street, parked next to you at a stoplight, serving your meal at the restaurant, ringing you up for your drycleaning.

I have lived as long as God.

Maybe I am God.

She was my God. And now she is dead.

Maybe she passed the torch onto me. And now it is my greater purpose to be for others what she was for me.

I miss her so much.

I just want to see her.

So maybe this is why she is in my dreams... she hears me and wants to see me, too. So we meet in my dreams. And maybe where she is, she is dreaming the same dream. So we do still get to see each other... in our dreams.

I still miss her, though...

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Missing Him...

Tracy's mom was at the funeral. She couldn't even speak when she hugged me, just wrapped herself around me and started to cry. I held onto her and remembered Tracy, desperately wishing she didn't end her life with his gun, and that she was there to hug me right back.

I miss a lot of things in my life. I miss a lot of people that have come and mysteriously disappeared.

I wish Life would understand that I NEED her to leave me alone and let me live... or try to live, anyway.

I'm drinking again, against the better judgement and concern of my readers. I understand drugs and alcohol are not the answer, but they sure do make great place-holders while waiting for the answers to all my angry, painful, disgusting questions.

I'm sorry I cannot do this any other way.

I am alone.

Drugs and alcohol are my best friends.

I haven't smoked pot since the weekend after Valentine's, but it's definately time to reload. I take that back. I smoked the day after her funeral, and I skipped work the following two days because I wanted to do nothing but be high and watch tv.

She is really dead.

I cannot ever talk to her, see her, touch her, hug her, tell jokes with her, learn from her...

I've been having a strange and difficult time since her death.

Tonight, I just lay in my bed for a while, totally and completely glazed, staring at absolutely nothing, but just thinking about absolutely everything. I was curled up, covers off, with my body frozen in a fetal position... too scared to move... too empty to feel...

Everything is different.

And while I was lying in my bed, I realized... I miss him - my boyfriend.

I don't have one, but I desperately wish I did these days, especially in times like this.

He would just lay beside me and hold me, not ever needing to say a word, but just laying his body gently next to mine. He would make me feel safe. He would carefully brush my hair away, slowly and softly kiss my trembling lips and wrap himself around me so tight that not even my nightmares could pull us apart.

That's my favorite - being wrapped around each other like rattlesnakes. Just lying together, not having to say or do anything... just letting yourself be. Just letting yourself relax in his safe arms, warm up to his tender skin, and feel your two hearts beating, dancing, together.

I have already polished half a bottle of wine.

I know I am only numbing my pain.

I commented the below on Survivor's site (post 04/08/06) on the night of her funeral... or maybe just after, I don't fucking remember... everything is so blurry, foggy, gray...


hi sweetie... so sorry you are having such dark and difficult days... wish i could take it all away from you. if this helps at all, everything you write TOTALLY makes sense. i know that we understand that about each other, so please, i beg you, to NEVER discount your feelings because you are not alone in feeling them. & while i hate how much everything hurts, how deep i feel the memories cut the insides of my heart and soul, the ONLY thing that helps me is knowing that:


we are on the same wavelength w/the numbness being bliss part... if feeling so many confusing highs & lows is so draining and painful, then why even bother feeling them at all? why torture ourselves w/this pain & turmoil? why not just smoke a bowl (or do a line in my case) and color the world a lovely shade of intoxicated and loaded?

before i forget, though, i want to mention that i experienced incredible mood swings & horrible nightmares when i stopped smoking pot. i also thought it would be easier to just reload, roll a blunt, and get lost in my make-believe happy world again. but i knew i had to feel everything because it has been so many fucking years that i havent let myself feel anything at all.

and in a weird, twisted way, i guess just feeling numb to everything we have survived thus far in our young and innocent lives is probably the most draining and taxing feeling of all... it is the one feeling that has to work soooo fucking hard to keep all of the other feelings shoved way deep down.

damn - i cant believe i just wrote that...

but it makes sense, doesn't it?

thats why all i want these days is a line or a pill or a bowl or a drink... but i know i cant have it for some reason... for my angel that went into hiding during my rape... i have to stay clean and sober for her... well, clean anyway... uh... i guess pot is okay since its natural, right? think ill be needing to reload shortly -

take care of yourself... ill be thinking about you and hoping you keep muscling through the days...

ive been struggling just as hard lately, so please trust you are not alone...

this all just fucking sucks, doesnt it?

but we will get through this.

we ARE getting through this.

it just hurts along the way sometimes...

email me if you need to talk at all...

8:38 PM

I only posted the above because while I was commenting on her site, I realized that everything I am doing to NOT remember is creating MORE work and pain for me in the long run... (says the anonymous blogger who continues to empty her oversized wine bottle into her sage-colored antique wine glass...)

I only miss having a boyfriend because I am incredibly vulnerable and scared right now, as I have been for quite some time. Let's face it - these things are not easy to read. It is not easy for me to confess my dirty little secrets. But I must purge them somehow, someway, because I am deathly afraid that if i don't, I will never let myself experience anything relating to love and trust, my two most feared enemies I am desperately trying to call a truce with.

I'm afraid I'm not even making any sense right now.

I am so disconnected and still.

Like I was after I was raped.

But something is a little off, a little askew, a little different.

I know she is dead and I can't change that.

It's as if I am so angry and so torn that...

... I can't even complete sentences or thoughts anymore...

... I wonder what she would say if she were here right now...

"Don't stop yourself from feeling what you need to feel. Life is what it is. You will have a difficult future if you don't let your heart live. It's not good for your spirit to hold things inside - they grow inside of you and keep you from enjoying Life."

We used to talk about Life a lot when she was sick. I wish she were still here... I still need to talk to her about all kinds of things. She needs to be at my wedding. She needs to be here for the birth of my children. She needs to shop with me for my new house. She still needs to be here, alive and healthy.

I wish she weren't dead.

I desperately wish she wasn't gone.

I need her here.

More than I need to heal from my rape and abuse, I need her to be here.

I miss having a boyfriend because right now, he would tell me nothing at all, but just hold me a little tighter, kiss me a little slower and touch me a little softer. And all the while, I would know that I don't have to say or do anything to explain how I'm feeling because he would just understand they are feelings.

And we don't get to choose our feelings... they just are.

And he would appreciate my confusion to the point of almost loving it, and ultimately, loving me.

I only miss him because I am not just alone anymore, I am...

... speechless...

I don't know what is happpening.

I don't know where I'm going.

I don't know who I'm becoming.

Monday, April 17, 2006

I'm Drunk... Again

Writing & wine has become a pair... like Bonnie & Clyde, Laverne & Shirley, Tom & Jerry... Drinking is the only thing numbing enough to keep my nightly fears at bay.

I've had nightmares again. Last Saturday night, I dreamt about her coming back from the dead to tell me that it's going to be okay, that she will always be with me, and that she will always love me more than I could ever know... I woke myself up because I was hyperventilating. I have never woken up from not being able to breathe before.

I'll tell you the rest about her and my dreams at a later date because I am too tired & too drained these days... I know she is still with me... in a good way, though. I miss her terribly, more than I miss my innocence and virginity. I miss her in ways I can't even explain. She is such an incredible, internal driving force and spirit that I doubt I will ever feel she has left me, which is a really great thing. I just desperately wish I could still hug her and talk to her...

But I know she is still with me.

I can't believe she is really gone.

Is she really gone? I don't know.

I hated it when the coroner came into the house, covered her up and wheeled her out. I wanted to lay down w/her and ride with them to wherever they were taking her. When I was talking to my aunt a few days later, she felt the same things - she wanted to run after them because she knew she would be scared all alone in that car ride to the mortuary.

I can't believe she is really gone.

She is really dead.

My eyes have formed their own personal wells again. I am too tired to cry anymore...

I wish she wasn't sick. I wish my family didn't fight so much. I wish she knew how much I loved her and looked up to her. I wish I never had to say goodbye.

My grandpa and my dad got into a big fight the day of her funeral. The funeral was in the morning, the fight was in the evening. I freaked out... I snapped: I jumped up, started yelling, "Just stop!! All of it!! Just stop!! She's dead!! Doesn't anyone care?! She's never coming back!! Just let it go forever!! She's dead and this is all still happening!! I hate it!! I can't stand it anymore!! She's never coming back!! She's gone so just STOP IT!!"

I was furious. I ran upstairs and cried until my insides were all dried out.

I miss her. I wanted her to live forever. But she was sick and in too much pain to live forever. I knew that, but wished that somehow, some way, it would all change for her sake.

But instead, my family is being torn apart before my very eyes.

I walked into the house yesterday only to hear another aunt crying and begging my grandpa for his forgiveness. My uncle was defending his honor, too. My grandpa has accused many people of many different things since her death, including my father.

He accused my dad of being responsible for an aunt's divorce and for the marital problems another aunt was having with her husband because, as far as my grandpa was concerned, my dad had taught them how to be disrespectful, negligent and hurtful.

As much as I hate how much my dad used to drink during my childhood, he is still a very honest, caring, honorable man who loves his family more than anything in this world.

On the day of her funeral, my grandpa told my dad he never liked him from day one. I looked over at my dad... the pot was slowly starting to boil...

I begged my dad to let it go. But I freaked out and broke down. I jumped up in front of everyone, crying and shaking. I begged my dad and grandpa to let it go today, of all days... the day of her funeral.

I just wanted - I NEEDED - us to to be a family for once.

I was already secretly really angry and hurt with how life was unfolding for our family before her very eyes... just beggging and praying they could all grow up and get along for her sake...

I have been a mess since her death. I want her back more than anything in this cruel, cruel world...

Things aren't just blurry and confusing anymore...

Things are non-existent.

I think this is the end of my family forever.

No one talks to one another. There is so much gossip and bullshit that I have to leave the house to take multiple drives in order to de-stress from it all.

All of my family's mess only proves that we are normal.

I don't give a shit about any of that, though.

I told them that it was going to be too late when they realized we had to support each other as a family.

And now she is dead. Gone forever.

I hate it. I hate her death more than I hate my rape.

Yes, that's true.

I'd rather let Jay rape me a hundred times than let her suffer the way she did while she was sick.... and witnessing the entire downfall of her entire family.

I am disgusted with my family these days.

But they are a part of me.

Literally. So I must appreciate them, for we are all connected.

Ah, hell... who even cares...

I'm drunk again, missing her, hating that she is no longer around to laugh with, talk to, help care for...

I will always and forever love and miss you...

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Living is Killing Me

I don't even know where to start...

But fuck you.

And fuck God, too. And fuck the world. And fuck it all to fucking hell.

Just fuck off and leave me the fuck alone.

She died at 4:00 am on Friday, March 31, 2006.

I wrote her obituary.

I picked out the clothes for her funeral.

I put the beautiful silk jacket on her cold and stiff body. Just looking at her dead face... and I totally lost it.

I felt my body cracking and breaking from all of my tears pouring out of me... like a waterfall... but I had to make her beautiful...

... just playing dress-up like all our shopping trips together.

I wrote her eulogy.

I cried the entire time I gave it... pieces of me slowly falling off and crashing below as I stood before her dead body in a cherry wood casket.

I am writing the thank-you letters to send to everyone who donated money, sent food, gifts & flowers.

I don't know who I am.

I don't know what to do.

I don't give a fuck about any of it anymore.

I thought I didn't care before, but since her death, I am just walking around blind and deaf, counting the minutes until a bus runs me over to end me forever.

I haven't been doing very good at all.

I hate myself even more now than I did before.

I hate that she is gone.

She was the only home I have ever known in my entire life. She was the only one I always went to when I needed to feel alive and safe.

And now she is gone.

I am even more alone now.

Now, I am just vapor.

I want to change my name, change my number, get up & move and leave everything/everyone behind forever, once and for all.


I don't give a fucking fuck if you think I am too scared or running away. What if I'm not running away because I'm scared, but I'm running towards something to feel safe?

Have you thought about that?

How can I be running away from something if I'm trying to finally be safe? How is that running away? Isn't that taking care of myself?

I don't know.

Fuck off if you think I should tough it out.

Fuck you if you are going to give me some bull fucking mother fucker cliche... shove your cliches up your rotten ass.

Just bring her back.

I didn't want her to die.

Please. I am begging you with every weighted tear pouring out of my eyes right now...


I have never felt so numb and hard, so angry and violent, so empty and dead.

She was the only one helping me to live.

She was the only one I lived for.

She was my life.

And now I don't know what to do.

I don't want to be here.

I want to disappear and start a new life somewhere else. Like I did before, but I returned for some reason. So maybe I returned to be here for her death... but now I have to go... don't I??

I don't want to be here anymore.


And figuratively.

Fuck you for taking her away from me.

Just fuck off.

And fuck this blog. Fuck writing. Fuck it all.

Fuck everything.

And fuck you the most, God. Fuck you. Kill me now. Just get it over with... Why do you keep on slowly killing me by ripping away the only things and people that have meant anything to me? Why even bother with all that extra effort? Just kill me now. Save yourself a hell of a lot of steps by cutting right to the chase... just slam my car into a deadly tree. Or aim a drunk driver in my direction. And give him a lit cigarette to make my car burst into flames upon impact...

Just finish it...

If you even exist, just finish me forever.


I don't have anyone now.

She was my heart and soul.

Please, Dear God,
Bring her back to me because my heart is missing, my eyes are burning and my body is dead cold... like hers.
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