On Saturday I finished the Bell Jar which I had tried to get through last summer in the middle of THE BIG UPSET. Admittedly, I have never tried to hang myself using my mother’s bathrobe, but I have dreamt of drowning in my ceramic bathtub, of taking in water to small lungs, of the way my body would sink and convulse.
I am aware of the ways I am reckless:
- I don’t look when I cross the street
- I sometimes take naps with the door unlocked
- I drive barefoot, with my left leg crossed underneath my right
Like Esther, I have never had a unique experience for my age, just delayed gratification in the areas of being in pain. I wrote letters and delivered them to the following mailboxes: McKay, Green, Gordon. Someone should read them. McKay: When did you give up? Green: I know I was a glorified rebound. Gordon: I don’t want you back (a lie), but would it kill you to beg for me? There is no return address and no correct way for the recipients to identify the proper person I wrote to.
Whenever you buy a drill can you please let me use it? We said we’d go splitsies but if you want to be nice, you’ll just lend me the whole. I will drill a hole in my fucking skull and happily swirl around the goop inside until I forget about it all. I could empty the contents into the toilet bowl or maybe my kitchen sink. Do you think you could press your calloused hands into the small of my neck one last time before I go? Could you tell me you’ll remember the way I smell if you never look at me again when I walk by? Can you promise that before it all dies, you’ll hold me tight and cry the same way you did that first summertime?
Whenever people come and go as people usually do, I am left with new flaps of flesh sewn to an already formed body. I begrudgingly make wishes on eyelashes and have become a better conversationalist, asking, “How so?” “Why do you think that is?” I am finally good at arguing—I can stay quiet until I find something logical to throw into things. I wear deep v-neck shirts and dresses because they elongate my short torso, from my mother.
One day I will lose everything that I care about and myself in the process: Everything is temporary. I will not flagellate myself for loving.
