a day in the life.

the nonbeliever. (cont)

Posted in Uncategorized by erin on the November 20, 2011


She never had any consideration for anyone but herself. Every time she slid a cold, metal, instrument across her milk white arms it killed me. It broke me the day I found her alone and bleeding, veins torn open in one short fit of sorrow and weakness. The blanket on her bed was green until she turned it deep red. The kind of red that looks brown and disgusting. That blanket will never be green again, not that it matters now. It’s just when I think about the love making and crying and cuddling and comforting that happened on that blanket I become nostalgic. Why did she do this, she stole my life too when she took away her own. I have to be honest with you because the guilt has been eating away at me deep in the pit of my stomach. I knew she wanted to die. I knew more than anyone in the world that she couldn’t handle this life. She pleaded every single night to be killed and I fought her every single night to cut the shit, to just be okay. I never told anyone. I once mentioned it to my mom but I never told anyone else. I really thought I could handle her and our situation, never did I think it would actually come to the point where she would go through with it. See, this girl she complained and promised she’d do it, she threatened ending her own life because she was that fucked up. And look, now I’m the fucked up one and she’s dead because she’s selfish. She knew this what this would do to me and yet she left me all alone, miserable and guilty and alone. I have to suffer and live with the pain every day. Do you see what I mean? She was cold and stubborn living in her own narrow-minded world. I know, I’m ranting now. I’ll try to relax. It’s just so hard to talk about, let alone keep living. I loved her; I fell in love with her. Just because she’s dead doesn’t mean I can just fall out of love.
It was a Tuesday and it happened right before we got into my car to drive home. For some reason I have this fight imprinted in my brain and I don’t even know why. It wasn’t our last fight ever but it was so moving and so terrible I can’t help but cry. I’m sorry. We were broken up at the time but I kissed her anyway, I couldn’t stop myself. And I know she didn’t want me to stop, she told me. We accidentally fell into a fight about another guy in her life and another girl in mine. God, it was so stupid thinking back on it now. I shouldn’t have run my mouth; I drove her to the point of no return. Before I knew it we were screaming on a sidewalk and she was beating herself, physically punching herself in the head and holding her ears. She fell into fits when enough was enough and she couldn’t fight any longer. Because there was nothing to cut herself with, she used her fists. Sometimes I felt those tiny fists pound deep into my chest or arms and it hurt. It hurt more emotionally and mentally, knowing I drove her to this point and now it would be up to me to pull her out of the black hole she was spiraling into fast. I held her tight against me and rocked her back and forth, it was all that could be done until the tears tired her out and my shirt was stained. These episodes were frequent in our relationship because she was crazy. I feel bad calling her that. I used to say it to her face and it would send her into angry and unapproachable moods. She used to joke around and say, “Never call a crazy person crazy.” At first I laughed at her because she was always saying weird stuff like that. But one day I realized she was right, she was crazy and she knew how she would react to it; I just didn’t listen.
My arm bleeds because I pick the scabs like she used to. I know it’ll scar and I don’t really mind, though I used to scream at her for doing it. I’m a hypocrite now. I’ve turned into everything I never wanted to be, everything I tried to save her from. I was never sad like her, burdened with the world and alone in the dark. Well, that’s a lie but I was so good at hiding it that sometimes I even forgot about my painful life. My drawn on smile was made from permanent ink and I chose to live that way, to hide the fear and sorrow because laughter is just a lot nicer to listen to. You can judge me all you want on how I chose to deal with my hardships, I don’t care, and I did what made me happy. I just wanted her to be happy too. She was so smart; I don’t know why she would do this. Why not call me and tell me the feelings she was experiencing. She knew there were hotlines that can be contacted, she knew what to do. She just didn’t want to; she consciously chose to give up. Yes, I found her in her room, alone and still warm. She knew I was on my way over; she knew I was coming to see her and kiss her and love just as I had for years before.
Doesn’t the color of these walls make you upset? I mean how boring can people get? They don’t soothe me at all and I definitely do not feel calm. In fact I’m pissed off someone in the health care profession would assume these shades are helpful to the mind. I was once interested in dedicating my future to helping others and now look at me. How pathetic? I’ve turned into her; I’m the nonbeliever now.

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4 Responses to 'the nonbeliever. (cont)'

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  1.   Pru said,

    on November 22nd, 2011 at 5:18 am

    i like the story alot…i like how in the end he belives he is turning into her…love the detail 🙂

  2.   michelle said,

    on November 22nd, 2011 at 4:58 pm

    Loving your story :). The details, imagery you provided is simply great. I can’t wait to see where this goes. One suggestion the line ”
    It’s just when I think about the love making and crying and cuddling and comforting that happened on that blanket I become nostalgic.”
    I think you have too many “ands” in there just my opinion

  3.   jenny abeles said,

    on November 28th, 2011 at 3:36 pm

    Hi Erin. You’ve done much good writing in discovering your story, and for revision, I suggest that you shape this into a narrative, a plot-line. Simply put, this is a story about a doomed love affair that ends in tragedy. How will your story be different from all others that follow that basic pattern? Will it be the way you tell the story, your narrative arc, something specific about the characters? All the pieces you’ve written should now be put together, crafted into a shape that pulls the reader along until s/he reaches your interesting conclusion: love gone bad leaves an indelible stain on the surviving lover.

    What more do we need to know about these characters? What can you tell us about them that makes them seem real, three-dimensional, interesting, individual?

    You’ve done good work so far, and you have much to do in order to refine and craft this. Please see me if you’d like to talk about this further.

  4.   kocampo100 said,

    on November 29th, 2011 at 10:07 pm

    i love your style of writing, it’s not your typical narating but instead speaking directly to the reader. It give me a sense that your telling a story and venting all at once this was definitely and interesting and enjoyable read. =]

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