numb

He did it again. He's gone and done it. I thought he was just being fatalistic, I thought he was just arguing for the sake of it. That's what we do. I wish I had known. I wish I had done something. Jesus Christ, chivalry a mile wide and brains more than my own, I sometimes think. Funny. Creative. Great conversationalist. Why why why can't he just get over his rebel fantasy? It's not heroic if you have no cause, sparky.

He's being tried as an adult, apparently. God damn he's got a lot to answer for. I wish I could talk to him, but even if he'd answer the phone I don't know what I'd say. I just want him to say he knows what he's gotten himself into, that he has some horribly convoluted explanation to account for what he's done and how he thinks. That is, of course, not how it'd be. And wishing is shit.

So I love you kid, and I mean that in more ways than I think I know, and I know you'd ever know. I wanted to tell you, but you let me down. It was a good last hug... but you knew what kind it was, didn't you? Oh why didn't you tell me.

It seems now everything's falling apart.

Best friend? Given up. Both sides, maybe.

Possibility of romance? Stranded. I wish it didn't hurt so bad to dream.

Being sociable? I'm too much of a downer. I'll bring everybody down.

Being creative? If it don't work, bleed on it! I have no blood left right now....

I don't know, guys, I really don't know anymore. I try and I try, and I don't expect anything out of anyone else (because in theory I can only be pleasantly surprised) and I don't hope for much (because in theory I can't be disappointed), but I find myself getting affected anyway. Goddamn it, if the bitching would just stop I could handle this so much better. I don't do anything majorly wrong, but all I hear is WHEN YOU'RE OLDER (wtf 18!), BAD INFLUENCE!, ATTITUDE!, RUDENESS!, DO YOU DO THAT TO YOUR FRIENDS AT SCHOOL?!, YOU NEVER X!, YOU ALWAYS Y!, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!, YOU DON'T CARE!. Bullshit, you have no idea! And once in a violet moon (blue moons are FAR to common for this) when I get the nod of approval, it's always with so many modifiers and conditioners and self-congratulatory blowharditude that it's more a "congrats, you didn't suck for once, and I I I noticed that and was a part of bringing you to it!" (<-- though if I suck you aren't responsible or only know me for the lulz) than a "hey, great, I'm proud of you". Whatever, fine, I don't need anyone's praise I guess, but at the same time I really don't need anyone's bitching either. I see what JS said when he argued in favor of child neglect (the asshole)-- he said he just wanted people to leave him the fuck alone. I'm not angry. I'm not. I'm not. I'm just physically, mentally, emotionally tired. I don't know what to do. Y'all don't know what to do WITH me, so please just let me sleep and poke around tentatively to see what I can do. I know I'm going to fuck up; you've drilled that into my head pretty thoroughly. I'd just appreciate you not jumping all over my ass before, during, and after it happens. I'm trying.

And I want You to decide whether you're going to be a good boy or not. Please, I want to believe you are. I want you to be, so badly. You have no idea. Please. Please be good. Don't make me cry anymore.

thinking about nothing

I'm listening to music today. Sometimes that helps to kick the blues. I'm not sure. Usually what works even better is to go wander around in the middle of nowhere, but not only do I not particularly trust myself with that right now, but I swear to god my motivation even to breathe is almost non-existent. I just don't want to move.

I hope it's cloudy tomorrow. I'd like to go to Nantasket. I want(ed?) to go there with J, because I figure it'd be nice, I guess. But I want to take some pictures, at least of the carousel. I hope the tide's in at least part of the way.

Poster sites have far too many versions of the same damn Bob Marley photos. They don't understand that ugly can be beautiful. That's what I'm going to the beach for.

Maybe I can do some artsy portraits soon. I've never done that before. I've always wanted to.

Unwell again. Ohfuck.

I swear I have a touch of the seer. I’m usually unphased by things because I know they’re going to happen way before the fact. It’s a talent, I guess, or a gift.

And honestly? This is what I see happening. I know I have this big plan about becoming an author or a Sumerologist and going to graduate school and whatnot, but in all likelihood, that’s not going to happen. I’m going to graduate college, maybe, or else drop out; either way, I’ll have come to the realization that I’m not nearly as smart as people like to think I am, and that I have neither the fortitude nor the talent to make it as an author, writer, scholar, artist, or anything else I aspire to. I’m sure I’ll have found some guy to attach myself to at that point—and going by my rather dismal track record (equal parts RS quality lesbians and totally incompatible guys; think ER [with whom my only regret is that he dumped me before I could dump him], SG, and this other kid from college who’s, okay, picture SG but kinda skinny, really preppy, and with an even more tenuous grip on heterosexuality. And he’s my sometimes-boss at work.), I’m sure I’ll be with some idiot I only barely like but want to be with because I’m desperate both to save from whatever his particular poison is and to find some excuse why I shouldn’t feel so damn lonely. I’m sure he’ll be abusive. I do enough idiotic crap when I’m depressed—I pick fights looking for people to hurt me, and if they won’t, I’ll just go out and batter myself on my own—that finding someone who’ll actually choke me out will pretty much be a logical conclusion. He’ll either be in college or not, I don’t know, and I’ll be living out of a van because I’m sure by that point I’ll have been broke for a fairly long time; my “family” will be more or less entirely out of the picture (five years; I give myself five years before I can tell everyone I’ve ever known to fuck off and leave me alone for the rest of my life; there are only five people at this point that I can imagine myself wanting to stick around with, and even then one person’s slowly slipping off that list…), so I’ll pretty much be all alone except for that guy. I’ll wind up moving in with him eventually, and the beatings will get worse, and either he’ll kill me (which I would really not like) or I’ll run out in desperation in the middle of the night and take the van up to some bridge and jump off and do the job myself (which I’d rather prefer, and see as the more probable scenario anyway). The only thing I’d really regret about all that would be that the people I’ll have “left behind” who would even notice when I’m gone would just use my story as bragging rights during their “my life sucks more than yours” pity parties, which would really annoy me and make me even more depressed, even though I’m dead.

I don’t know. I just really don’t care anymore. I don’t want to talk. I just want to feel someone’s arms on me or get used to someone next to me or start to be able to take the fact that someone loves me and wants to touch me for granted. I want to feel special for once. I hate when people say “I know how you feel”, or “yeah, I’ve been through that” when I finally decide to tell my stories. I don’t want to be the same as you then. I’m used to being a loner outcast awkward little fuck; I’ve come to accept that because there’s nothing I can do about it. But when I tell my stories, I just want to be able to highlight that, just for a second, as maybe being something that makes me worth loving and different from all you. I want to be special to at least one person. I don’t want to be anyone’s friend anymore. I want to be someone’s love.

Good day

I had an incredible day today. Let me start at the beginning.

Thursday, I made my trek to my old high school to take part once again in Write Club, this time as a "super veteran". In the hall on the way to the classroom I saw J, waved to him and called his name. He spun around and joined me, obviously rather surprised. He didn't talk to me much during write club, though he was notably very civil and almost quiet. R even said to me that he was nice to her. Zow. At the end of WC he took me aside, thanked me for coming, told me it was nice to see me again, hugged me, and then left. (Hugged is important; this was the second time ever that he touched me friendly-like after a year and a half of very obvious not touching. The other time was a hug on the last day I was a highschooler.)

Friday I was back for Latin caroling. Due to a fortuitous twist of fate, I was walking down the front hallway at the same time he was in the cafeteria (it has a glass-paned wall facing that hallway). I knocked on the wall and waved; he gave me the nod, meaning for me to wait up with him. He got a pass from his study teacher and asked me where I was going. I told him I was outta there. He said, "you're leaving my way, right?" So I said, "oh, of course". "His way" happened to be up the stairs and to the other side of the building. He told me he was going to Tedeschi's up the hill to grab a Slim-Jim and a soda (lunch), and then asked for my number. I gave it to him, then gave him the coke I had recently aquired from someone else for no particular reason. We went down the stairs and parted ways-- after a farewell hug during which I told him I had missed him (he seemed befuddled), and he told me that he'd call me as soon as he had nothing to do, which would probably be soon.

He calls that night at 8:44, appologizing because it was "late" (ha), asking if I was doing anything tomorrow. Unfortunately, yes, was my reply; I told him I'd have the car and the time on Sunday, though, if he was still free. He said yeah, and that he wanted to talk, but that he was "engulfed in dispair" because his neighbor's dog died [long backstory] and he just found out, so he wasn't really in the mood to talk at the moment. I said ok, hung up, and continued. That night I talk to G about him and I, hoping that he could help me out in that regard. G eventually admitted to liking me himself, and I felt like a jackass. Events transpired and we decided to hang out on Saturday.

Saturday comes and I go Christmas shopping with my dad and brothers 'til somewhat after noon. I call G at 2:23 (I think), and he gets to my house like twenty minutes later. It's not awkward. We go to Panera and he gets food, telling me (kinda strangely) that he called J and his little brother Jm to see if they would come, but they weren't home. I was embarrased, and he laughed. We then cruised the mall, then went to pick up A at work. Along the way we headed to J and Jm's house; G told me that if J was coming, he was going to tell Jm to take shotgun so "the lovebirds" could sit together in the back. And he was serious. I told him that I both loved him and hated him. As it turns out, J didn't come. I hung out with G and Jm as we picked up A, then I was dropped off.

On Sunday J calls around noonish (later he admitted that was pretty much right when he woke up). I was busy, though, and asked if I could get back to him in an hour. When I did, we talked awkwardly for a while before me just saying that I was coming to his place and we'd figure out something eventually. So I did. We wound up tooling around for a long time before deciding to bite the bullet and go to the mall. We wandered around just as aimlessly (still maintaining good conversation); he was teasing me about being "dispassionate" and "indecisive", so I decided that we walk around outside. We bicker about the coldness and relative lameness of my "plan", though J is cruizing rather quickly down the walk despite everything. At one point I ask him jokingly if he's trying to run me into the shrubs on the inside of the path or if that's kind of just happening, so he looks at me funny, smiles, then purposefully tries to run me off the path. I laugh, then kind of push back, reminding him that if he knocks me off, I'll just hit a shrub and look stupid, whereas if I push him off, he'll hit a car and look creamed. So he laughed and said, "if you can move me", getting into the side-defensice stance... of course I could, and he seemed somewhat impressed. (Note that we hadn't done THAT madness since school when we were definately flirting.)

So eventually we leave and go to Taco Bell, because J hadn't eaten anything all day and I felt badly. He wanted me to get something because he said he'd feel awkward eating by himself, but I insisted and he dealt with it. We sat in a double booth inside and talked more (if someone says "I hate you!" jokingly enough times, does that mean anything?) before he decided to get an apple thing and convinced me to as well. We left at that point and sat in the van with it off, not really sure of what to do next since time was running out. So, we talked. He asked me about the event with E and I that I had mentioned earlier, and admitted to it being creepy as hell and E being an asshole. He agreed with my analysis, then it was quiet for a minute. Then J said, kind of slowly, "listen, I want to appologize for the last time we hung out. I was really a creep. I shouldn't have done that*". A minute went by wherein I said nothing, then he pointed out that fact. Eventually I replied, "yeah, I was really kind of pissed for like two months, partially because I didn't know what the hell was going on, partially because you wouldn't return my calls and then I heard about the Amanda thing, and... something else that... nevermind". He agreed that he was a dick, and appologised again, saying that he was really surprised I even talked to him on Thursday, because in his mind he doesn't really deserve it; it didn't even make sense to him why I'd be hanging with him, because he was really kind of beyond the pale. I told him I had forgiven him like two months ago (explained later), but that I wanted to thank him for appologizing because I never thought he would have done that. He asked why, and I told him that I was expecting him to ignore it and act like it had never happened. He looked kind of hurt and embarrased and said "yeah, I tried that, but I just couldn't do it. I should have said this sooner". I told him that I still wanted to talk to him because there were a lot of things I liked about him, and that I worried about him, and that I thought that his behavior had been rather out of character; "fool me once, shame on me" (he was embarrased about that). He said I was one of the few friends he had, which means a hell of a lot. (He also gave me a mini-lecture about the whole messed-up concept of "wasted time", and that sticking with someone just because of that even though they were an ass was a bad idea; the good times justified themselves. This was a totally sober and awfully huble arguement on his part for the genuine purpose of having me See The Light and not be his friend. I, of course, would have none of it. He had a noticably teary voice during the whole exchange.) (Amanda hasn't talked to him since she left; J felt badly because M had said some things to her that weren't true, which was especially bad because he had of his own initiative and free will given up drinking and drugs while they were together.)

At that point I had to drive him to the high school, and we were fairly quiet. He called his mother to see when he had to be home, and wound up getting upset-- his breathing reminded me of me during a panic attack. I asked him if he was okay, and of course he said yes. He wound up losing his hat out the window and I swear to god, almost panicked right there. We went back and got it, and he was noticably upset and trying to psyche himself into being fine; he appoligized a couple of times for being clumsy and neurotic during that point. Of course I told him not to worry about it. Of course he told me he would anyway. I brought him down to the school, all the way down Hubbard St., before he got out. So he turned to me, while grabbing his jacket, and said in a tone I couldn't quite name (not exactly friendly, though not at all predatory; I'd almost say soft) "okay, now you're going to get out of the car and hug me." And... we did. It was a long hug, star-armed, and his mouth was near my ear and he rocked us very gently. When we let go, we looked at each other for a moment, smiling, before he turned to go. I called out to him to take care and be good; he told me to do the same. He then took off for the night.

He promised he'd call again.

Am I doing something right this time?

I don't want to let this possibility pass away. What's worse: trying and failing, or passing up the chance twice and, ultimately, still failing? Especially when there was a good chance both times that if could have gone well, had I been bolder. I'll try. I'll make sure to speak this time.

In other news, I'm closing up on my best friend. I don't know how I'm doing that. I don't want him to know. I don't want him to judge me, because I know what I'm doing. (And that's what he's said to me [again and again and again] in similar matters, and of course I don't believe him, and with the additional leverage he has in my case, I don't stand a chance.) I've beat around the bush just to give him the chance to ask me for this matter, but he didn't take the bait, and I don't think it matters. Others know. They'll keep me (and the other) from doing anything too stupid.

My friend Sam

Sam is a strange man. He is very kind, very polite, very melencholly, and, most strangely of all, very dead. Sam is a ghost. He lives in the upstairs hallway in the family house, though he doesn't go as far as either end of it. He knows where the doors are, and though he can enter the rooms if they're open, he can't otherwise.

Sam is average hight, perhaps somewhat slimly built, wearing a 1930's style black or charcoal possibly pinstriped suit and hat, and very nice shiny black shoes without visible laces. He has somewhat long blonde hair, groomed well. His face, as my brother remarked, looks like someone's from a war movie: somewhat strained. We can very rarely see his face, as he usually looks down with the hat obscuring him. He does, however, have a rather shocking smile sometimes. 

His voice is usually somewhat faded, as if he were trying to hide great sadness. It is the kind of voice that seems to presage a good singer. He is very polite, as I mentioned, and speaks with noticably outdated phrasing. He often stops by my and my brother's door at night to wish us to "sleep well".

He doesn't realize most of the time that he's terrifying.

Sometimes he interacts with the solid world. One time, perhaps two months ago, he entered my brother's room at night. There were articles of clothing hanging on the walls and in the closet; Sam made his rounds around the room, slowly and very delicately lifting the clothes off their hangers and letting them drop, then looking at them sadly when they fell. He turned and looked at my brother (lying in his bed trying not to panic), nodded a goodbye to him sadly, and left. Several times he has found things that I've lost, leaving them somewhere out in the open for me. Very often he would sit with his back towards me on the side of my bed, elbows on knees and face in hands.

When I first met Sam, I was nine. That's when I moved into this house. He called me "little girl" for a long time. He called my brother "young sir". He knows my real name, but now he calls me "milady"; he has addressed my brother by his full long name before, and has at least on one occasion called him using his usual name.

Sam is terrifying when he wanders the hall and stands, butlerlike, beside doorways so that people pass him, though judging from mine and my brother's experiences, he doesn't seem to realize it. My brother walked backwards from the bathroom to his bedroom to keep Sam in his sight once; Sam told him to "watch out", and my brother, terrified, looked over his shoulder to see what Sam meant-- it turns out he was about to walk into the door. He turned back and Sam wasn't there. He jumped into bed quickly, but within a few moments Sam was beside his bed, asking if he wanted the door closed (my brother had forgotten to close it as he dashed in; it was usually shut at night). My brother didn't reply, but Sam told him to sleep well and left with a nod, and the door shuddered sligtly further shut as he left.

My brother has seen him break his posture and run as if the devil were chasing him. He has seen him crying, wearing a strange button-down trenchcoat as if returning from a funeral. He has seen him, most terrifyingly, holding a bleeding figure by the banister, obviously having fatally injured him, telling the figure that it was going to be okay until he died. Sam had bid my brother "sleep well" after even this, though he was crying, and my brother said that Sam had picked up on my brother's horror in his politeness.

Sam doesn't want us to face the bad things he's done.

He never shows his hands. One time he stopped me in the hall to talk to me*, and I asked him to show me his hands. He showed me what was in his right hand-- a torn human ear, a hunk of bloody flesh, a gold ring on a gold chain.

He can put on a horrible face with sharkteeth all around and horrible white/burning eyes; he can make beds spin and rock like on water; once, when I challenged him, he warped my bedroom wall and drew rats into the stars on my ceiling in the absolute most horrifyingly trippy experience I have ever lived through.

The cat, Smokey, won't go down Sam's part of the hallway. The old cat, Rusty, was much bolder and did, though at one point he got into a physical confrontation with him (I don't know who won; I was too terrified to look).

*I had several weeks earlier, the last time I was back from college, been talking to my friend about Sam. My friend had proposed that he come down to my house and we set up an audience for our spectral friend. Sam had thought when I said "soon" I meant the next time I came back; I assured him that I merely meant for my friend to come by during this cycle (something like mid-Ocrober through perhaps March; he does show up during the rest of the year more rarely, though. He also seems to be unable of leaving the hallway unless it's only my brother or I alone. In addition, it must at least be murky out.)