More journal excerpts

                                                  March 20th,2013

I hope you know you're probably the reason if I ever become cold.

I'm starting to realize you're just like everybody else. Too many people think they know everything. You remind me of the silent walls of a therapist's office, searching for tiny holes to rack my brain. A scream is heard from the waiting room, and her parents rush in. A scared girl, a laughing therapist, amused by his own game, tricking her that he had 4 fingers instead of 5. "It was just a game", he laughed as he explained. I couldn't help but realize to this day this image clinged to my thoughts, the memory played over and over again every time I sat in the chairs of people who claim to know all the answers. "It's just a game, it's all a game", I thought and that is why those years of therapy had no gain, I'd never talk. This is the part where you realize you were like a pearl washed up from the shore, you were somewhere in the mess of when I spilled that coffee on my dress. I think I let you in the day we sat in your car telling me "I guess I'm different from the rest." Everything looks perfect from far away, you were like a god, a perfect structure in the rough. Those three pages were the noises in my head, the demons that I kept away from all the rest. The angry faces of a therapist's furrowed brow, numerous unfinished analyzations piled neatly on a desk-
"You are easy to dissect."

Through those words I heard the little girl scream inside my head.

I'm 10 years old. I'm sitting at my mother's dinner table, and I tell her I'm in love, I tell her he is wonderful and that I am his and how everything he says is a song I like the best. She tells me that I'm mistaken and that I am her's, her little girl. I laugh and shake my head, telling her I'm his and only his. She is angry now, her face is cold and she says "Then he can have you, and you aren't my daughter anymore. Now boys, treat your sister like she's dead."

I am sitting at my mother's dinner table surrounded by strangers who never turn their head. They don't look my way or pass the bread so I'm staring at my plate, noises of the dead. She's creating the perfect scene for the end of a play she made up in her head



Pause for effect




"No one could ever love you" she says her voice so clean, cutting the silence like a piece of thread. "Now that you know this", she turns to me and says "Stop your crying and eat your bread."
The girls still screaming in my head, and all I can do is laugh because I knew all along, that it was all a game, just a game because no one can love the dead. Smile because you've won, a finished file piled neatly on your desk labeled-

"Easy to dissect"