Saturday, December 10

I wake up, and she's in my arms. I don't question it. I just lay there, holding her. It's nice. I kiss the top of her head. And then I wake up again. I'm holding my pillow. I knew it was too good to be true. I had the same dream last night, with the cemetery, and getting swallowed up. My father comes in, tells me to get up. My mother is trying out a new breakfast recipe. I get downstairs. It's not even done yet.

Friday, December 9

I wake up. Tell her about my last dream. Not in detail. She says she feels bad. That makes two of us. I didn't even tell her about all of it. Go to school, decide at some point during the day to start this journal fourth block in my computer class. So there you have it. You're caught up to the present. I'm sitting here, typing this all out in my journal blog I've started. The fucking announcer lady is going to tell us to "Have a great weekend." I might just fucking shoot the speakers. If I hear that, I swear I will go crazy. Because nothing is great anymore, nothing is good, nothing is innocent. My plans for the weekend?

Saturday: Nothing.

Sunday: Get dragged to church, youth group that night so I don't blow my brains out due to boredom.

And then it's back to fucking school.

Weekends aren't even good anymore.

Hopefully I'll find some time to write tomorrow and Sunday. But if not, there's always good ole fourth block.

      Got home from school. Locked out of the fucking house. I called my sister, she came and let us in. I decided to go for a skate. I usually don't skate in converse, because I get blisters. Now I want them. Some physical hurt would be nice for a change.
       We talked about how she feels now. I'm back in my apathetic mood. I'm done. She's done. I need someone who isn't going to run away from life when it gets tough. And that's all that she's done lately. Running away from the pain of missing me, running away from what she did. In my opinion, if she's big enough of a girl to have mindless, loveless sex with a guy, she should be mature enough to face consequences. Oh well. We had plans to see each other over Spring Break. Well now, when she tells her father why, he'll ask me what's wrong. All I have to say is, "Your daughter needs to talk to you. Don't let her out of this one." He'll talk to her. She might hate me for it, but that doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore. I went for a walk tonight. Full moon. It makes me restless. So I'm walking around at 10:30 at night. I find myself wanting a break from the same old, same old. I contemplate jumping in front of a car. Not to kill myself, but because life would be different. I crave the adrenaline. I want to get mugged, or attacked by wild animals. I've never run due to fear. I hear its one hell of a rush. I guess tonight isn't my night to find out. Next time, I'll walk through the bad part of town. That should get some results, and rather quickly. I don't mind getting caught. I don't mind getting beat up. I crave it. The adrenaline. She can never read this now. She'll hold herself responsible. Responsible for what, I ask you? If you're reading this, obviously you either snuck on here, or I gave you the URL. Well don't feel responsible. It wasn't you. It's purely curiosity. Curiosity of what it would feel like, to get attacked. I haven't been truly scared, and I regret that. The only difference between now and then is the fear of pain. I no longer fear pain. I embrace it. Don't get me wrong, I don't hurt myself. Not yet, anyways. I've thought about it. But now it's a curiosity. I leave you with that.

Thursday, December 8

I feel things again. But only hurt. I suggested the idea that we date again, so guys will back off of her. Oh no. She still likes Michael. She doesn't want to screw things up with him. No, she just wants to screw him. I also found out, she only did that to get him to like her. She never did anything like that for me. Apparently she likes him more than me. I mean, seriously, she can either screw things up with him, or with me. So far she has continually chosen to screw things up with me. I looked up the guy before school on facebook. Almost punch a hole through my computer, just from seeing his face. I start to wonder if I forgave her too easily. I did. She hasn't had any consequences so far. No, just me. The dreams. My knuckles are raw. Oh well, just keep smiling for the friends and the parents, laugh at their jokes, pretend to feel sorry for them. My friends says he's depressed because he can't eat lunch with his girlfriend. I want to laugh at him, slap him, beat the shit out of him, and give him a wake up call on life. But I just tell him I'm sorry.

         I get home. It's my moms birthday. I give her a quick kiss, then go upstairs. I've ceased feeling again. I tell her I want to stop talking about it. She thanks me. I just miss talking to her like we used to. We try to have conversation, but we can't do it. I text my ex girlfriend from 4th grade. Or rather, she texts me. We've been talking for a while. We talk about self-confidence. She needs some. I have none to give her.

          That night is the worst one yet. The most detailed. I dream that I'm walking through the park with her. She laughs, kisses my cheek, then runs off into the graveyard. I smile and follow her. She gets in a car parked by the road. I look in the window. He's fucking her in the back seat. The car doors are locked. I bang on the windows. She looks up at me and smiles, then tells me how much she loves me. I break my knuckles on the car window. I fall to the ground, sobbing. After they finish, she gets out of the car. Says she's sorry. I hold her for a while. Then she gets up. Grabs Michaels hand and walks away, leaving me. After they leave, the ground swallows me up. I'm sitting in blackness, in nothingness. I wake up. I chewed my fucking knucks again, through the bandages. I wrap them up again, and read a book. I've slept for 1 hour and 43 minutes tonight. Most sleep I've gotten all week.

Wednesday, December 7

I've stopped feeling things. I go over to my sisters house today. She knows what's happened. She talks to me about it. She tells me she did the exact same thing, and to not tell anyone because the only three that know now are me, her, and her husband. So now I know what it was. She missed me. Yeah, good fucking excuse. I miss you too. So now I can go fuck some girls, so I can try to get over you. Yeah, I love you too. She missed me, and wanted to feel something other than the loss. I could care less. Like I said, I am devoid of all emotions. How do I feel about the sudden apathy? I don't. I don't feel. So I go inside, play some video games with my brother in law.

I realize that I miss her voice. Make plans to call her.

I dial the number, then just shoot her a text saying I had to go to bed. Parents were taking my phone.

They weren't.
        That night, the second dream. His name was Tristan Perry. I wake up at 1:30, my knuckles are bleeding. I must have chewed on them in my sleep. I get up, clean them off and bandage them.
Get back in bed.
Don't sleep.

Tuesday, December 6

I watch the sun come up. I watch the blues, the greens, the yellows, oranges, and reds of the sunrise. It's beautiful. But I don't notice. I look at the clock. 6 AM. Now is an acceptable time for me to go downstairs. I look at myself in the mirror. I'm a wreck. I text her. "Goodmorning." Except nothing is good anymore. All that was good was her, and now she's been tainted. I don't really remember what happened much that day. I didn't talk at school, I went straight to my room after. Oh, I went for a run. It felt good. Although looking back I suppose I was just trying to run from everything that had happened. I get into an argument with my brother before bed. My parents have taken my phone for texting so late the night before. They read the messages. So they call me downstairs. They want to talk about it. I tell them what they want to hear, that I'll be all right, so I can just go back to bed.
        That night, I have the first dream. I've been having these dreams since this one, but they're slightly different every time. It always involves her and some guy that's hit on her. Let me tell you, there's been a lot. Tonight it was Josh. Josh Crosse. I won't get into details. But when I wake, I want to go back, just to pound his fat fucking face in.

Monday, December 5

Funny how things can change your life. Change how you feel, in a matter of seconds. Especially words. Words have a funny way of being able to make us blush, or make the blood drain from our face. To make us feel good, or to make us feel like we're gonna puke. I'll let you guess how these words made me feel. These 6 little words: "I had sex last Friday night." There it goes. My plans, my futures, my heart, all stopped with the reading of those words. My world started to collapse. My chest tightened. My eyes started stinging. I get out of bed and stumble to the bathroom, so I don't disturb my sleeping brother with my sobs. I lean on the bathroom counter, and start sobbing. I drool because I can't get enough air. I feel myself start to hyperventilate. My vision swims, the darkness closes in, and I pass out on the pile of dirty laundry........
           I wake up, maybe a half hour later, laying in my own puddle of drool and blood. My forehead is gashed, I must have hit it on the counter when I passed out. I finally get it together enough to text her back, ask her how she could do this. How she could betray me after she told me she loved me for the past 13 months. She tells me she likes this guy. She's known him for three weeks. She's pretty sure he doesn't like her back, was just using her. I puke in the toilet. Almost don't make it. She lost her virginity to someone who doesn't even love her. That should've been me. The sobs start again. I blow my nose a couple times, tell myself to man up. I want to punch a hole in the wall. Better yet, drive the 12 hours to where she is and kick the shit out of the guy that fucked her. I could do it. I would do it. I start to make plans, then catch myself. She would never forgive me. So I throw that out. Give myself a couple minutes to cool down, then ask her if she's told her father. No. I ask how it happens. She said they had been hanging out all day. He took her to a cemetery. We went to a cemetery together, once. Our first "date", although technically we weren't dating. It was a walk. Our first walk. Our first time spent together alone in over ten years. She tells me it was cold, so they agreed to get in his car. The backseat of his car. She says "things happen and then yeah." I hear, "We started kissing, then he fucked me in his car." This was not the way it was supposed to happen. She's only a sophomore in high school. We were supposed to make love after she graduated and got married, her first time. Not mine, because I made the same mistake my sophomore year. Only one tiny difference. It was with someone I thought I loved. She knows she doesn't love him, and he probably doesn't even like her. That makes it sting even worse for me. Every time I close my eyes, its all I see. Them, in the backseat of a car. Having sex. We talk, I forgive her. I want to talk to this guy, this "Michael." Peacefully, not hostile. She says she thinks it's a good idea. Although he's shaken up, because he's 18 and she's 15. Legally rape. If anyone presses charges. I consider it, but that won't work either. Again, she'd never forgive me. But there is a problem with this. He's shaken up because she's only 15. I want him shaken up, but not for that reason. I want him to know that it was supposed to be me, that she was too young, that he took her from me, that she was the only reason I can get through my life from day to day...but I could do that later. Tonight was for her. So we talk some more, only after a while, she's "real tired and needs to go to bed." What the fuck. Okay then. We can talk tomorrow.

       I don't sleep that night.

       I don't even close my eyes.

Hold on, and don't let go.

I've decided to start this journal due to recent events. I'm starting on a Friday, even though this all started last Monday. I'll tell you the details later, but that's not important. If you're reading this, you probably already know. But I need to write this down, to document my feelings. The dreams I've been having. And the such. I start this with the intention of never letting anyone read this. Maybe her. She's the reason. But why would I? To make her see what she's done? She knows she's hurt me. To try to make her feel guilty? She doesn't know guilt. She's a wonderful person, but even the most wonderful of us can be dolts. So here we go. Hope you can stay along for the ride. Try not to grimace, feel bad, pass out or puke. I've done all four. And so it begins.