My biggest fear is falling in love. I've avoided relationships for the past sixteen years for that very reason. But now there's someone I feel more for than ever before, and I don't know what to do. Do I let him in, let him break through all the walls I've spent so much time building? Watch them crumble down like the Twin Tower's did on September 11, 2001? Or do I add another wall and isolate myself even more than I already do? The decision is will be tough, but I won't make it right away.
Ellie
I have a stack of books in my bed room that reaches the ceiling and a collection of records that could rival any number of people from the seventies. While other children were playing outside and making friends, I was reading and adding to my vast knowledge of the world. I could count the number of friends I have on one hand, but the number of family members on much less than one hand. My mom died when I was two, my dad when I was fourteen. I live with the only family member I have left, my uncle John. My favorite pass time as a child was lighting candles and blowing them out. It was like making a friend and then moving away, getting something you've always wanted and having it taken away, or being told you were loved by someone who was about to die. The feeling that all of those different scenarios gave you was the same, it was all the same sensation of loneliness that couldn't be taken away. The number of friends and family members I've lost though, those could be counted on the hands of every person in the world. Except me because no one can count on me.
I am an unwanted addition to the world that has hidden away for a number of years with out any sense of self worth. No one ever told me I was broken, but I always knew. I was like a scratched record or a book with the last page torn out. Worthless. I've never lit a match without the intent to start of fire. I've never done anything that I didn't have to. My place of refuge was my bedroom, where I could reread Wuthering Heights and listen to The Beatles on repeat. The lock on my bed room door didn't come with a key, neither did the lock on my heart. I refused to paint my bed room walls for the fact that they could never be unpainted, anything that couldn't be undone, I wouldn't do. Because the damage that was done to my heart couldn't be undone, and I didn't ever want to hurt anyone or anything like I was hurt.
I've wanted to be a writer since I was younger. I spent all my time writing stories that would never be read. Every time I finished a story I would staple the pages together and place them in a manila folder. I still have all the folders somewhere, there's at least two hundred of them. They'll be buried with me some day, some where deep under the ground. You can't take it to the grave, made me want to take all my prized possessions with me wherever I went just to prove a point. A point that could be made sooner or later depending on fate. I never believed in an afterlife, but I always believed in a destination. I saw the world as the mountain you climbed and the end of the world as the peak that you reached and then it was over. Ending's are what make the world go round after all, since nothing can begin until something else ends.
Frayed edges all around the hole in a pair of skinny jeans would be enough for someone to throw them out. Not me. The symbolic meaning of the hole means much more than what it looks like. The skinny jeans are just just jeans, they mean nothing. But the hole is a reminder of a mistake, a mistake that can't be learned from unless you are reminded of it often. I own seven pairs of pants, one for each day. Why would anyone need any more than one pair for each day of the week? Three out of those seven have holes, reminding me of the many mistakes I've made in my many years. Each hole is like a badge that a girl scout would wear on their vest. But for shame rather than honor.
My closest friend is my Siamese cat. I found him behind an abandoned building in down town Virginia. His name is Linc, which is short for Lincoln. Unlike the many people in my life who have came and gone, Linc has never left. I also have a fish named Sushi. Most people wouldn't keep a cat and a fish in the same house, but I do. I do because it represents balance and proves that as long as there's control anyone can get along. Linc and Sushi are quite close actually, being cooped up in my room together must have made them form a bond. A bond can't be broken easily, trying to break a bond is like trying to superglue your fingers together and then pull them apart. Not impossible, but not possible either without major effort on both parts.
Being born into the family I was, I have quite the knowledge on alcohol. My dad was carting me into the liquor store with him since I can remember. He had a fine appreciation for Bourbon. He payed for all the beers he drank and cigars he smoked with his trust fund. My grandfather was a rich man who married old and died young, he was the owner of a mine. My dad wanted no part of the mine and left town as soon as he turned eight teen. Of course he came back when he got a phone call from my mom telling him she was pregnant and that the baby was his. Seeing that he had no other options he went to work for my grandfather at the mine, he had a knocked up girl friend and an over drawn credit card, there was no other option. But there's always another option, he could've very easily told my mom to figure it out for herself and stayed long gone. He didn't though, and I'd like to think that it was for me, he came back for me.
Dear Diary, October 12, 2009
The trees are starting to lose their leaves and the air is starting to nip at the noses of everyone who breaths it. Some people think the leaves changing colors and falling is beautiful, I don't. There's nothing beautiful about death. The leaves changing color is like flesh rotting, and when they fall it's like when a coffin is lowered into the ground. They shrivel up the way skin does when it desiccates.
Love, Ellie
Dear Diary, November 2, 2009
The trees have officially lost all there leaves. In other words, they're dead.
Love, Ellie
Dear Diary, November 29, 2009
I know what I want for Christmas this year, I want to see the saddest person in the world happy.
Love, Ellie
Dear Diary, December 3, 2009
My Aunt Janice invited me to New York for Christmas. I think I'm going to go. It will after all be my first Christmas with out Maggie. Maggie, I hope all your dreams came true and that you found the love you were looking for. You're gone, but never forgotten.
Love, Ellie
Dear Diary, December 26, 2009
I've been in New York for the last week. Christmas was yesterday. Aunt Janice got me a fish, I named him Sushi. I hope my wish came true and the saddest person in the world is now the happiest. But I'll never know.
Love, Ellie
I flipped through the leather bound book that hadn't been written in in almost two years. So many pages filled with so little thoughts. I didn't like to go on and on about details that didn't matter. I wrote about the high light of my day and then moved on. Diary's aren't supposed to be that way though, I didn't understand that at the time, now I do. The bit I wrote about Maggie made my heart feel heavier. Maggie was my only friend, she moved to Virginia all the way from North Dakota. We would still be friends today if it wasn't for her illness. She was diagnosed with cancer at the age of five, she didn't tell me she was dying until it was too late. There was nothing I could do to save her.
But how could I of saved Maggie when I can't even save myself?
Author's Note: I'm going out on a limb posting this story, I hope everyone enjoys. Please let me know what you think by reviewing or shooting me a private message. I'd be delighted to answer any questions you may have.