So we'll see how long I stick to this or any journal. I was pretty good about it at Warner but since I've been home I've been really bad about keeping up with this. I should be completely truthful in this journal, not hold anything back...not even from myself. There are so many things that embarrass me about myself, maybe if I got them out in here they won’t be weighing on me so much. In the past three weeks so much shit has happened. It's made me wish I was in Warner, because in Warner I didn't have to deal with this crap and If something did happen I would have so many people to talk to and work things out with.
Ok so first thing that happened was the whole fucking job interview incident. Then I realized that I'm going to have to go to Nassau. I’m really upset about it. Even though I was only at SVA for a little while I loved it and I'm really upset I'm not going back. Plus the fact that Lorenna is going to be going there makes it even harder. I feel like she's going to make so many friends and forget about me. Then there is the fact that I don't fucking want to go to Nassau. I made sure that I wouldn't have to go to community college and now I do. Sometimes I think I still feel like a failure. This is going to suck but I'll get through it. I need to start taking pictures again. Sometimes, well most of the time I feel like I prob forgot how to take pictures and that I'm gonna suck. I guess it's better to suck at Nassau than at SVA. I know that this is the right decision and is what is better for me it's just hard to admit that. I don't know if I'll ever be able to admit that to anyone but myself. Maybe someday...who knows.
Then on my birthday I woke up in a really bad irritable depressed mood. I got into a huge fight with my sister. I was just a bitch. I got pissed at Murray for the littlest thing. Then my mom came into my room and I broke down. I came to the conclusion that because all my previous birthdays have sucked I subconsciously tried to sabotage this one before anyone else could. Then Rach called and I felt a little better. My mom convinced me to go to Lorenna's and go to the city. So I did and I had what I thought was going to be the best birthday I've ever had. NOPE!!! I can’t even write about what happened because I’m still so fucking disgusted by it!! Why does this shit always happen to me??? Maybe I'm just not fat enough. UHHHHHHGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!! Sometimes I really hate people.
Also, I saw Bill for the first time since I’ve been back. He’s going to die or be in jail soon I know it. I will always care about him and there will always be a place in me that still loves him. But he’s killing himself. He’s fucking dead practically.
People always love to tell me how lucky I am whenever they find out when my birthday is. I’m not one to disagree with them. There is certainly something symbolic about the idea of being born on Independence Day. Plus, I may be the easiest person to make a birthday mix for. Also, fireworks. Fireworks, every year just for me and, you know, America. Unfortunately, for most of my life, despite the pyrotechnics, something, somehow, always managed to ruin my epic celebration of being alive. Granted sometimes that something was me.
My nineteenth birthday is a prime example. I woke up automatically assuming the worst and so the worst is what I got for the first half of the day. By the time I changed my ‘tude it was already late afternoon. A large chunk of the day tainted by my own assumptions and insecurities. When it was finally time to meet up with my friends I was seriously ready to stop being a pissy pants and just have fun. And so I did. Until an unexpected awful dive into shitty events made this birthday one of the most memorably bad birthdays I’ve ever had.
After a great dinner with a few of my closest, a man playing music in Penn Station sang the Happy Birthday song, while dry humping me in front of everyone commuting back home from their city BBQ’s and firework displays. So, basically, all of Long Island. I was horrified and disgusted. Everyone watching was cracking up, including my friends, and I was dying inside. I knew I was a joke. Watch as the fat girl gets some from the drunk subway performer... Hilarious. I wanted to disappear. More than that, I wanted someone to stop him and help me. When he finished he whispered in my ear with his hot alcohol infused breath, “That was your birthday present.” I nearly puked. I was livid with the Universe for putting me in that position. Livid at my friends for not understanding why I couldn’t find it funny. And livid at myself for not stopping it from happening. For the rest of that week, every time I closed my eyes, all I would see was that dude’s gross face.
I couldn’t sleep when I got home and because I’m apparently a masochist I decided to reach out to Bill for a shoulder to cry on. Any time something really bad happened to me, even if it was something that was only actually really bad in my head, I would contact him. To be grossly honest I felt like if he knew I was hurting maybe he would finally love me back. Yuck. As soon as I told him what had happened he offered to come over and talk. It was the first time I would be seeing him since I had gotten out of Warner, and my expectations were low, as they should have been. A few weeks before this he had gotten back from what should have been a groundbreaking tour with the band that he had been in since high school. They had been invited to open for a huge and influential punk band. It was a really big deal and Bill couldn’t have been more excited. For as long as I have known him, all he has ever wanted was to be a successful and prolific musician and this felt like the first real step to making that dream a reality. It was a huge opportunity for him and something he had been wishing for his whole life. So when I heard that before the tour was even over his band had broken up, I was really worried. In my heart of hearts I knew without even having to speak to him, that he was in worse shape than ever.
I sat outside on my front porch smoking a cigarette and anxiously waited for him to show up. I was as scared as I was excited to see him. About fifteen minutes and two Marlboro lights later he pulled up. As soon as he shut the car door behind him I found myself holding back tears. He looked like he could die at any moment.
He sat down next to me and lit up a cigarette. It was dark, but I could see the track marks on his arms. The sight of him erased the events of that night. I could barely remember what had happened, and what had brought Bill here in the first place. He started to tell me about the tour. About how while they were in LA he was trying to buy heroin and got jumped and nearly beaten to death with a lead pipe. About the hijinx him and his girlfriend got into while shooting up in various bathroom stalls. About how the singer of one of his favorite bands came up to him and told him he needed to get help, that this life he was choosing wasn’t worth it. About how his bandmates decided to pack up and leave because they couldn’t deal with his shit anymore. Then he told me, while laughing, that he almost got into a car accident the night before, because he nodded off while driving on the Grand Central Parkway. His friend had to punch him in the face to wake him up.
It was clear he was high while talking to me. He could barely hold his head up, and he kept nodding off in the middle of his sentences. I sat and listened barely responding. Wishing he had never shown up. Wishing I was ignorant to his state. I knew from the moment he offered to come see me that what I was going to witness wasn't going to be pretty, but I had no sense of how bad it actually was.
When it was time for him to go I thought to myself, "This is the last time I’m ever going to see Bill", and I truly believed it. My heart ached as I watched this boy, who I thought I had loved so deeply for so many years, walk back to his car. I felt like an asshole for letting him get behind the wheel in his condition but I didn’t know what else to do. He wouldn’t listen to me even if I tried to stop him. I couldn’t help him. I had to just let him go.