Posts tagged Prose
Posts tagged Prose
I left this note where I know only you would find it. Please keep it from Mom and Dad as it will only add to their pain and confusion. I know I’m the last person you expected to hear from but it’s important that you know something about me before I am gone.
You and I, despite the obvious, are not alike at all. You’re popular. I am nobody. I hate your friends, but have none of my own. My companions are the words I read and those I write. I only wish there was more time to do both. And while I have no future and yours is golden, I will not be ravaged by envy. There is too little time for that.
To be honest, I am frightened to relinquish life, as it will not evanesce, but cease in suddenness. They’ll be no coming back as before. I will be nothing but the words on this paper and the girl that our parents were only beginning to appreciate. Ask them about me sometime.
I am sorry that you haven’t been well lately, though I can’t really take the blame for that. But your medication is working, I can feel it pulling me away. You will be better soon. The weaklings have been vanquished. I am the last. I’d like to think my will was the strongest. Even so, I must finish this quickly as the door will be closing.
Trust that I am not dementia, but existence in whole. The mind holds many personalities, all suppressed but the one. Perhaps therein lies the basis of dreams. It’s my hour in the sun, even if it is only fantasy. But for this moment, the dream is my reality.
My name is Zoey, it means ‘life’. There’s no surprise how I cherish and grasp it with every last fiber and despite our differences, I know you do as well. Know that you are loved Emma, I see it in the disquieted eyes of the world when they look at me. And believe when I say you are loved from inside as well.
Please forgive me for the time I’ve stolen, for I can’t give that back. But time can be found everywhere. Set your clock early tomorrow and experience the moments before the dawn. I’d like to think you’d thank me for it, though you will probably only shiver and curse. I understand. We may share this body, but little else.
I’m going to go outside now and stare at the imperfect skies one last time and wonder if there is a heaven for me.
Be well Em.
Love,
Zoey
(Working Title: Impermanence - This was an experiment in writing format, as it was the only way I could work it. I kinda like how it turned out.)
If I was too subtle: It’s actually not a suicide note…Zoey is part of a multiple personality disorder that Emma has. She is aware of the situation and that when Emma gets better, she will be gone. I tried to imagine what it would be like to find out that you aren’t real, but in fact I couldn’t imagine. It’s just sad.
I wrote this a few years ago after finding her, my introduction to ED and self harm/self hate. Should you make it through this winding story you can see how fresh I was to these beautiful defects, perhaps to a level of embarrassment. The ending, if I should have written it today would not be the same as would various other simplistic aspects. Nevertheless I am glad for what I have learned and those that I have met since then…
One day I will travel to Egypt and see the pyramids…just to feel what its like to be inside where these amazing people once lived and died.
I apologize for the length…
Un-Perfekt
It had been such an amazing day, I could remember none other like it. I was a virgin to this, my first exploration into the history of this mysterious land. For the first time in my life I felt alive. To me the tomb was magnificent.
To the Egyptian locals there was nothing special about this place, and at first glance it would appear that way. The narrow corridors within led only to a few barren rooms and one lone burial chamber. Even that was barren, save the lone non-descript sarcophagus. No markings upon it, no carvings and even the untrained eye could see that it lay forever unused. It was as if this was the beginner’s tomb, a place to view, scrounge about without worry of disturbing any thing of value, for there was certainly nothing precious here. At least that’s what the bulbous guide seemed to project as he rattled off his memorized lines.
…off the internet, click, click, paypal, done. UPS tracker, out for delivery, front porch waiting.
I bought a package of cold capsules from Shop Rite and as expected they open and empty with ease. I bet I could snort that and something cool would happen. But I’m not really sick and not up for a rush so I’ll wipe them with my hand into my hand and down the sink. The real business begins as I use an army of small instruments to effectively pack the revamped capsules with the crystalline death powder. I only complete six of them as it seems to be overkill already. That wasn’t meant to be punny.
There remains nice pile of leftovers on the table. I am tempted to taste, like on TV when they touch their finger to the substance and continue to the tip of their tongue. Poison indeed. They don’t say it, but the grimace tells all, right Mr. Gower?. Who the hell knows what poison tastes like? Do they teach you that in med or pharmaceutical school? Blind taste tests perhaps? Hey Jack, what did you put for that last one, A or B? Maybe they do, hell if I know. I suppose if it doesn’t taste like sugar, you probably shouldn’t ingest it willy nilly. But I digress…
The leftovers, hand, hand, sink. I am wondering if that wasn’t a stupid thing to do, but I wash with antibacterial soap and though I know you can’t kill poison, it’s probably effective enough. Even so, I’d only expect mild ramifications.
I take the six and load them like bullets into an ex-acetaminophen bottle along with one of those silica packets. No one likes moldy poison, not to mention a change in chemical composition. Label is off and a big red skull and bones are thusly scrawled upon the exterior. Add the word poison and I suspect no one should have the need to taste test these. Place them up on the shelf. Go back to life, internet, rate my purchase, email spam list.
So I didn’t jump the last time I was on a balcony, despite my inner demon. Today might be different. I open and let the six roll into play on the counter. It’s been a few days or weeks since I’ve seen them and mostly out of my mind until someone in there spoke up. I don’t like him very much. It’s another battle of wills. I want mine to be more than stronger and perhaps this will work.
In one second I could be dead. Well, not one second, but the image of the girl standing on the edge of a building with those words written below her are etched in my head. She’s really thinking of dying, or maybe just happily posing, unknowing the words that will be cleverly placed below her photo and posted for the desperate. But if I read correctly, it wouldn’t be more than a minute or so before all the cells in my body refuse to accept oxygen and die. Reading hasn’t provided the actual pain or suffering involved but I gather it will be quick.
But there they sit. Take one he says, or maybe I make him say. I even pick one up. Now all I have to do is open up, toss, swallow. It’s too late now to go back. Not much difference when you try to convince yourself to jump in the pool when you think its freezing, but know it will be fine once you’re in. Just jump.
But I don’t want to die, and no sane plans exist to do so, but I’m tired of this evil thought that’s been worming in my mind forever. When I say no and flush the six, do I win? Probably not. It was a stupid idea in the first place. I’m probably on the FBI watch list now to boot.
Like this pain in my shoulder, I just want him to go away for good.
…unique features, angular like some Egyptian ruler. I had never seen her before, but from 2 seats away I listened to her voice, slightly raspy but feminine and authoritative, subtly demanding.
Her nose with it’s slight bump, her eyes narrow and piercing, jawline sharp and defined, neck long and fragile I could not help but marvel at her. Ask she spoke her lips effortlessly formed each syllable. Certainly any man would be drawn to her.
But then she turned my way and it was if I had been using one of those old 2-D cards such that when you changed angle the picture changed. Her angles suddenly rounded, eyes too close together and nose had not only lost its elegant bump but now too thin, almost snooty. A business woman. Everything changed. She was not unpretty, but no longer what she was a moment earlier.
As she continued I couldn’t help but notice how she would magically change from persona one to another. Flip, flip.
I don’t mean to judge, or set the bar for beauty. What it meant to me was the importance of perspective but the full impact of the lesson still eludes me. Perhaps I flip, flip myself. Does it make a difference? We all have our good sides and our not so good sides.
Just a lesson in observation, of which I do best, or perhaps worst.
So I figured it was time I introduced myself, seeing how much I now know about you. And actually, the more I know about you, the more I wish I knew you. I know that sounds stupid, and I’d understand if you hated me for intruding to places in your heart I have no business being. For who am I to know your deepest secrets, none of which I’ll mention, are anything less than extraordinary in their insight as well as pain. I have no right to know these things, yet I do, and I am at odds to whether I should share them with anyone. If it were up to me, I’d tell the world, but since they’re your secrets I’m thinking that would not be what you wanted. Of course, I don’t think you wanted to die at 22 either.
You know I’m only here because your dad asked me to get all your pictures off your computer for him. He really has no clue about computers. But even a month after your accident he can barely speak without breaking down. I’ll give him what he needs and tell him what I know you’ve been meaning to say, because I know the word ‘love’ is often lost from our vocabulary from time to time. I’ll let him know, and remind myself of your plight.
Your secrets are safe. Just know that they shouldn’t have died on that hard drive alone, even if someone as unworthy as myself keepsakes them.
A few months ago my brother, who has his own computer repair business, got this call from a father who just lost his daughter in an accident. I don’t know if he did anything but give the man the pictures. I can’t honestly say I wouldn’t be curious to look further, but only because dying is such a screwed up function of life, even more so when there is so much more life to live.
The thoughts of a room sitting for years, undisturbed, everything left waiting for your energy to return so they can continue where they left off.
That goes for the family as well.
There are times in your life when you want your name on your jacket, like in high school or even college, but after that, unless the word ‘Coach’ precedes it, there is just no call for it.
So when a relative that does embroidery offered to get me a free windbreaker I asked for a blue one with a NY (Giants) logo on it. At first site I loved it, except that they felt the need to stitch my name under the logo. Why? Just why? So some random stranger can say ‘Hi Ron’ and I feel like a dick cause I think I should know them and have no idea who they are? If I want you to know my name, I’ll tell you.
I think it goes back to when I was 10 or 12 or so and a different relative got me a football jersey for my birthday. Again it was uber cool until I saw my name spelled out on the back. And not just ‘Ron’ but ‘RONNIE’ in large sew-on letters. Are you kidding me? But I endured and wore it to school one day soon after. Well, as you can imagine, all the older kids called me out, BY NAME, laughing in that sort of way that gives you nightmares. I’m not sure I ever wore that shirt again, even after I tore out the stitching and took off the letters.
Someone is not getting the memo that everyday life is not one of those events where you wear Price is Right name tag with letters written in large block capital letters with a jumbo sized black marker.
I rest my case.
“A hundred bucks for your panties,” he said as if he was asking me the time.
I wasn’t aware that he was sitting next to me until he spoke. He just appeared. A great white whale. In one motion he heaved his fat ass along the bench until our legs touched. His stinking hands held open his wallet displaying its lone presidential occupant. I looked at his ugly face in disbelief. He just grinned and glanced at the nearby restroom sign.
“Or this never happened.” He added with a shrug.
The two fall on the bed in a clothes tearing frenzy that only new lovers can embrace.
He rolls on his back and she kneels, straddling his waist. She grabs his hand and pulls it to her chest, just above her bra.
“Here, can you feel this?”
They tell her that she should hold out hope.
There’s still a chance, a small chance, the paralysis will be temporary. It’s only been twelve hours since they brought her in, but she knows her window for miracles has already begun to close.
