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Thursday, Apr. 01, 2004 / 4:40 p.m. ~No Answers~ I didn't know. I couldn't know. Yes, it was a risk, and all of life is, and yes we are alone and we will leave this life alone, but who stands beside us? And who takes what is offered, and who appreciate and who gives, and what is love? I drink green tea, I sit and shiver, one foot under me, then the other to keep it warm. I can't do the most basic things. I can't remember what it is to cook or eat or put on a sweater when I'm cold. I can start each paragraph with "I" and still not know the why of any of it, only write what I feel, or what I'm trying not to feel, only feel loss and sadness, and think of how I said that, "It's just so sad", and feeling the tears well up in my eyes in that moment, not caring if anyone saw the way I left, how quickly I moved, how my hand covered my mouth, and the sound of my own gut wrenching wails in the car on the way home. Who was that? Who was making those sounds? Was that even my voice, and where did it come from? Have I ever wanted help so badly as right then, have I ever wanted to call anyone I have ever known, or have an online chat with every stranger who reads anything I write, have I ever felt so afraid of being alone, or afraid of hurt that might never go away? At least you have closure, she says. And I say, yes, at least I have that. But the differences in behaviors are still so puzzling to me, the fighting, the making up, the 'We are such children, I am so sorry, you deserve better', I can never forget those words. I can't compare them to the hatefulness now. It's like two different people. I smelled nice though, I was so clean, I looked good, I made an effort, I really tried to appeal. I was warm and kind and friendly, I was giving, I touched him in conversation, I hugged him to thank him for coming, I wanted to be happy with him, I only wanted him to be happy to be with me. I can remember sleeping with the other one, last weekend, his hand underneath my breast, I put it there, reaching around from behind, so safe, so safe, so safe, I want to be there now, in his arms, I want a literal shoulder to cry upon, I want ears to hear me wail and ask, 'Why? Why? What did I do to deserve this? What have I done? Why does it hurt like this? Why? Why?'. There is no shoulder, there are no ears, there is no answer to the questions I have, there was no cause to hurt me like this. I am not a bad person, I shall insist upon this yet again, here, everywhere, I have not done anything out of pure malice, I have been kind, forgive me for being alive, forgive any unkind thoughts, and absolve me of any guilt, of any wrongdoing, of any mischief, bad deeds. I want to change history, I want to be who I was, I want to go back in time, I can't stand the present. I can barely live through this. I need to do something normal, like turn on a television, watch a commercial for that new erection drug. I need to think about John Lennon loving Yoko Ono. She wasn't too old. They even had a child together. I'm not bad, I'm not crazy. I'm not too. I'm not. There is no too. What is too? I am me, only me, ME, do you hear me? Don't love me, no one love me, I'll still be here until it's my turn to move along. There are no answers here. Cost of the War in Iraq
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