I threw my phone into the wall again. I guess what you expect to happen never does. For example, I expected to win the lottery once in my life. Guess what, that didn’t happen. I expected to be married by now – the guy dumped me two weeks ago.
I’ve thrown my phone at the wall three times this week. It’s still not malfunctioning or broken, only cracked. Bummer. I slammed my hand into the wall two times this week. It hurt (and is slightly sprained now), but nothing long-lasting. It’s not broken, it’s not forever disfigured, and not even once did it just explode open and bleed profusely.
Sometimes, I wish I could change everything and have the life I should have. Problem is, I’ve never really worked for that life. Probably because of what everybody said and thought of me, and because I was happy – happyish – with what I had.
And here I am: twenty-nine, single, alone, in a studio apartment, working for a shitty pay in a crappy job, and wishing for something to grab me and take me away from this bloody life I'm now stuck in, careening towards the end.
I’ve tried to make light of it all. I even wrote a poem yesterday (thankfully, I’m ambidextrous, so I’m not really missing my right hand). It went something like:
Slammed my hand into the wall
Tried to brave the stairs in a fall
Now the one is sprained
And the other is pained
I still feel like shit
Couldn’t laugh at the skit
But now I’ve got to snap out
And open my closet to bury the pout
I saw the ropes, I heard the voice
I realized I have to make my choice
But death is death, the end
What did you do to me, my friend?
My English teacher should be proud – at least I found rhymes for it. No free-verse, but actual poetry. It didn’t make me feel much better, but I could toast a glass of Merlot over it.
Why Merlot? I’ve always hated the taste – I’ve never liked wine, but Merlot is the worst. My opinion – don’t blame me, I supposedly have bad taste.
So yes, I’m torturing myself. The only thing that felt like real pain was cutting strange symbols on my legs. I felt less proud of it when I had to wear ankle-length jeans when my big sister came to visit. In this sweltering heat.
I actually cursed myself for being an idiot. I think.
I’ve always been a happy girl. Obsessively manic-happy. I would sing and dance, no matter what the heck people thought of me. I loved fully, trusted wholly, and cared deeply. I never forgot a birthday, never missed out on buying gifts, and never missed a party of one of the family or friends.
I also never really hurt myself, because good luck was on my side. Except for the time the bowl of punch slipped out of my hands and smashed into pieces on my feet. Or the time my cousin slammed the car door shut on my hand. But, hey, accidents happen.
Sudden depression and gloom is not an accident, though. I’ve been poring over horrors and thrillers these days. I can’t stand the soppy romances and the light-hearted comics. Shoot, I don’t even know why I ever read them before.
The world is darker than I ever thought of it. Friends are fake, family members are obsessive and intrusive, and boyfriends are only out for the big prize and scoff if you are acting like a prude.
I’m not paranoid. I was just blind for most of my life. Blind to my father’s cheating, to my mother’s drinking habit, to my brother’s drug addiction, to my sister’s choice of wrong men, to my older sister’s obsession with perfection, and to every other flaw and mistake of every friend and family member.
I always knew I was flawed. I could drink too much, laugh too loudly, have no clue what humiliation is, and just be myself when I should have been the more discreet version.
Now I’m living the life where I truly see…what I never wanted to see. And the truth is, for the first time in my life I’m actually afraid and simultaneously confident in the face of danger.
I’m looking forward to the moment he breaks through the door, and yet I’m not ready to feel his hands around my throat.
This is what happens when you allow a psychopath to become your friend. This is what happens when you aren’t prudent and thinking smart. This is what happens when demons are able to grab what you have.
What is the solution? Hell, I haven’t been able to figure it out…I can choose Death or Death: at the hands of the killer or my own. Be strangled or hang yourself (personally, I’d prefer the cutting myself to pieces and watching the blood spurt out).
I haven’t decided what I’m more afraid of. Only decided that I want to go back and change it all. But, there’s no going back, only going forward, towards the climactic end. The climactic end, and complete and utter insanity.
So, this is the final countdown, I suppose.