Thursday, May 19, 2005

i'm very sorry

I really don't want to do this.
The act is very violent. I am very afraid.
But the baby has to get to some place where it can be born, where people will let it live, where it's not in my body causing this pain all the time anymore. And if it's not a baby, whatever it is, then, it has to end. If I could get to a doctor for a casearean section or even just to find out what the problem is, if it was not a baby, and I knew that I could see the doctor and they could do something to help and not lock me into a psych ward, I'd go.
But the first thing that will happen again if going anywhere for it is they will not help me, and they will lock me up again,.
I really did nothing to deserve this torment. Really, nothing. I didn't ever set out to intentionally hurt anyone. I didn't decide to be born into some role as Jesus or Anne Frank, I said some things I didn't know people weren't supposed to say about things I didn't know people weren't supposed to talk about, and I'm sorry and I've tried to make up for it. I've also realized some things I thought weren't true, about abuse and I'm sorry for that. But I don't deserve to walk around pregnant for a year, being told that I'm not and forced to be in constant physical agony and mental torment because it's so obvious that this is a big secret we are all supposed to never speak of, but how can you not speak of it when it is so obvious. And why? I tried to have a baby; I tried to have an abortion. I went to a clinic, and I went to my obgyn multiple times, and I went to a pregnancy center, and I went to the hospital, and I had surgery for endometriosis thinking that it was going to include having the baby removed, because that's what Dr. Pagan indicated, that if there was a "tumor" it would be removed by a cesarean section cut, and talking about this all makes me sound crazy to you. But I am not crazy. I am not going to volunteer to go in this physical condition into a terrifying, horrid mental health setting again, surrounded by scary men and nasty staff and heartless doctors who tell you that you're basically a worthless human being, and that nothing about you is correct and that it doesn't really matter anyway if you're physically sick because you're worthless to them, and that you're going to end up gassed to death. If I'm going to be gassed to death, I might as well leave now, in a more frightening and abrupt way, but what is the point? Why should I care that I am being a "rat" by talking about this, anyway? Because I am supposed to be concerned that I didn't help you gas enough people? I'm not a Jew. I'm not even a goddamn lunatic. I'm caucasian, very aryan and American, and I never did anything to bring this bullshit onto myself. All I did was try to live. So fuck this planet if this is what it all comes down to when you're thirty and you haven't gotten a husband and a child. You gave me NO POSSIBLE OTHER WAY OUT. YOU TOLD ME I HAD TO DO THIS. YOU TOLD ME OVER AND OVER. ALL OF YOU. AND IT IS NOT MY CHOICE. AND I DO NOT WANT TO DO IT, BUT OBVIOUSLY I HAVE NO WAY OT LIVE HERE.
I wish I was insane. I wish it was that simple. I wish to God that some antipsychotic drug would make this all go away, and the place where it was as all the absolute worst is inside those hospitals where they gave me those drugs. Had I been more ignorant of things, life would have been so much easier. I am really sorry that I paid attention and that I stopped watching television too. I am really sorry I did not ever enjoy going out and getting drunk and that I did not ever do stupid things with my time like smoke marijuana. I am really sorry, in fact, that I did not become a heroin addict and die of an accident of some kind long ago. I am really sorry that I knew what I knew, that I was told what I was told, that I was forced into this position, and that there is no way out of it now. I am really sorry that I was mislabeled.

Everybody have fun when they start telling you to Walk Home down the Florida train. I am leaving now, before that happens. I thought, for the past year, I'd try to help somehow, to become worthwhile to the society in which I live, regardless of whether I agree with it. And I tried. I worked, and I worked a lot at really crappy jobs and I did I tried to be useful and to "do" and I thought that I could improve things, make up for things.

See this sort of writing will be used to call me psychotic. So nevermind. Nevermind. Nevermind.

If you want to stop people from killing themselves, as some people do (and some, from what i have noticed, or most, apparently have no problem with stories of suicide or are so stupid they think it is rare or that the only time anyone does it is when one is insane).......here are some tips:
-someone who is sitting alone crying in a fast food restaurant could probably use a person to ask her how she is, not just walk past or look at her and ignore her.....maybe someone died in her family, maybe she's dying, maybe she's going to kill herself tonight or she wants to or maybe she's sick, or maybe, maybe you could make a new friend with that person. maybe you have something in common. maybe that person could be you yourself.
-try paying attention and being kind to people who attempt suicide, not ignoring them afterwards
-don't make it so easy for Americans to buy guns

On the other hand, if you want to make euthanasia, and suicide less traumatic and somewhat humane, supply people with humane ways of ending their lives. It would be very simple and actually less dangerous to society at large to give someone a nice quantity of chloral hydrate or heroine than to give sell them a gun or the keys to a car, if they happen to want to die, and you have no way of knowing (as i am living proof of this) by looking at a person that she/he wants to die

Eventually we're all going to die. Some have their lives cut off faster than others. I think your life can be cut off in many ways, and just being sick and alone much of the time is not so much different from being dead, at least in my part of the world, where all that really mattes about a person is the amount of money that they are able to come into contact with and the means through which they acquire it.

Things like this, actually, make it easier for me to do what I'm going to do. I know that I have a value unappreciated by the societal values of my part of the planet in the time in which I live, on the planet in which I live, and perhaps my little spirit which really is still quite willing to live and flourish and create will find itself a place where it matters to the beings around it a bit more than it was able to matter here.

Carpe Diem, friends.

Sylvia and Virginia Woolf are holding a reading in the dead women's cafe upstairs, and I plan on attending and having a good laugh.

I'm terrified, truthfully. And I find, really, no glory or romance in this. I do it out of necessity and I do it only because of that. My baby deserved to live, and so did I. Perhaps if the place I'm stuck living won't let that happen, we just have to move along. Unfortunately my means of moving are making me sweat and shake and feel nauseated and I am terribly disgusted by the thought of it. Violence really is not in me, and never was. It's probably a good thing for my neighbors, considering that one can so easily obtain deadly weapons around here, and that I have no desire to live, that I also have no desire to hurt anybody else. Actually, that's a lie, about having no desire to live. I have a strong desire to live. A very strong one. That's the only reason I'm still here to type this. I have very few legitimate reasons for wanting to live, but I want to live, nonetheless.

I think if I felt that my reasons were more legitimate and that my existence really mattered to people outside myself more than it does, things wuld be different, perhaps I would have traveled to find a place where someone could be paid to get the baby out of my body for some substantial amount of money. I thought about doing that so many times. But I'm so tired now. And it would have been really difficult, and probably impossible. I didn't create that situation.

Oh well.

I went to a cemetary today and was surprised people take the time to visit them and leave recent flowers, so frequently. Probably nobody in my family will want to do that with me. I think that I'd do it, for someone else, I think that I'd spend time talking to them and bringing things of daisies. There will be some people I'll see on the other side, my family someday, and some friends, and it may be that on this particular place on this particlar string of time, we're not both there, but at some point, in some time, we will both be there, or here, or elsewhere, together again, in some fashion. Maybe as computer programs like my brother suggested, maybe as butterflies, maybe as people, maybe as beings from some other universe. I think it will be in the future, not the past, if that makes logical sense, which it doesn't. Anyway, I will look forward to seeing you then, and I hope that you see me when you do, in whatever form I come back here. I see you - we are all connected.

I can't write anymore.

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