Authors: Victoria Sawyer
I DON’T WANT TO LIVE ANYMORE
I cannot deal with anything
I am a failure
I cannot do anything
I am hideous
I have an awful personality
No one wants to be with me
I am a psycho
I may hurt myself
All life ever does is kick me when I’m down
It shits on me constantly
I can’t handle it anymore
I want to die
I’m done, I give up
I will scream
Everything always goes wrong.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Can something actually go right in my fucked life?
I can’t deal with my own psycho mind.
I can’t stop the thinking and obsessing.
It’s astounding I’ve lasted this long.
Everything stresses me out.
I’m keyed up constantly.
No rest for the weary and insane.
THIS IS A MENTAL BREAKDOWN.
So I was supposed to get my period sometime soon. Nothing,
nada, no red. OMG. If I am pregnant it will ruin my life. My parents will hate
me. I’m pregnant, I know it. I know it!! FUCK!!
Seriously, how can anyone handle not knowing, waiting,
fearing. I don’t understand how girls younger than me can have sex. Girls who
are 14, 15, 16 and somehow they can handle it. They must be completely unaware
or don’t care about anything because I can’t even handle it now at 18 almost
19, not without totally losing my mind. I’m glad I didn’t have sex at a younger
age. I wouldn’t have been ready. I would have been overwhelmed and worrying
constantly. At least right now I’m not in high school. I’m an adult, by the
world’s standards and could take care of this if I absolutely had to.
#######################
Yesterday in class I felt so dirty. I was sitting there
wondering what everyone would think if they knew I had an STD and was on
medication for it. They would laugh, cringe, be completely disgusted. I felt
like it was plastered across my head, a big red letter letting everyone know
that I was a walking talking plaque ridden body. I feel gross just sitting here
inside my own body, knowing that there is something wrong down there, knowing
that I am harboring some nasty disease that people will want to avoid at all
costs. And yes, I did start to notice the symptoms. On a happier note, I’m not
pregnant. Thank God. Finally my period came. I have never been happier to see
that red or feel those cramps in my entire life. At least one worry has been
removed from my plate, for the time being. Now I just have to make sure I take
my pill on time every day. God, life is a pain in the ass sometimes. And the
best thing is yet to come, I have to give him his prescription…fuck no.
I’m shoving my way through the packed crowd of sluts, hoes
and d-bags, trying to get to the keg. I can feel my cheeks burning and my hands
are trembling ‘cause the very loud music is making me jumpy.
I need more
alcohol, stat.
The sips I had in Kayla’s dorm room before we left wasn’t
nearly enough and I feel this close to leaving if I don’t get some soon. Hannah
is following along behind me, pushing past people dancing, smiling at someone
she knows, promising to talk to them later, generally dilly dallying, wasting
time. But I’m on a fucking mission, eyes zeroed in on the prize, the shining
silver keg of Pabst at the far end of the room.
Disgusting
, yet it
wouldn’t matter to me if it tasted like absolute shit, I’d still want it.
Once I finally get there, I breathe a sigh of relief and
start pumping myself a very large beer. I almost laugh out loud as I imagine
how I must have appeared, pushing through the crowd, eyes glittering with need,
the addict on her way to getting a fix. It’s funny because everyone thinks I’m
a party girl, the good time girl, but the truth is I need alcohol to even act
like a normal human being here. I need it to calm me, to convince me not to run
away as fast as my legs can carry me. And the freedom it represents, the
freedom to be someone else, to live for a while without panic, is like heaven
on earth. I’ll do just about anything to feel that way, so when Thursday,
Friday, Saturday, and even sometimes Sunday roll around, I’m so happy I could
cry.
I’ve guzzled about half of my drink so far, I can’t seem to
stop tipping it up. My drinking is getting worse, each time I need more to keep
calm. Every night there comes a point when I feel crystal clear, sober, even
after three or four beers and then I know I need more. I need to drown out the
panic, banish it. I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care that I have to nurse
my horrific hangover the entire next day, because by the time night rolls
around, I’m ready to do it again. I’m ready to escape.
We’ve been pushed away from the keg by newcomers who seem to
have a need for beer like mine and now we’re crammed into a tiny space just big
enough for us to stand, red Solo cups almost touching brims, steadying them as
people jostle around us. I’m hoping it’s not obvious to anyone that I’ve been
really going to town on my drink and it’s almost gone. But the good thing is
I’m starting to feel better. I’m starting to feel the freedom. Hannah and Kayla
are laughing now at something and I join in, not really sure what’s so funny. Soon
we’ll start dancing. That’s how it always goes. Get a drink, chug it, get
another, chug it, start to dance but hold back and then finally after another
drink or two, really let go, free and loose.
Let’s get this fucking show on the road.
The girls
are busy gossiping and the keg is suddenly free, so I steal away for a minute
and quickly pump myself another drink. No one seems to notice and I’m back in
my spot in no time, the cold beer flowing smoothly down my throat. I feel good.
I feel so good.
It’s like a high to avoid the panic. Like a release that
I’ve been waiting for all week, an orgasm of panic free thoughts and feelings.
Fuck
yes.
We’re sort of fidgeting now, almost dancing when the music
halts for a moment and a cry goes up through the crowd and then a new song
blares over the speakers and it’s one of my favorites and I want to celebrate. I’m
dancing now, getting in to it, holding the fingertips of Hannah’s free hand as
we grind, tipping my cup to my greedy lips with the other, smiling, laughing at
something she has said. I’m trying not to think about
him
. Sometimes
panic trumps even those thoughts and I’ve forgotten to think about how much I
hate him, how much I love him, how much I want him despite the fact that he
basically told me off and made fun of my “sloppy drunk lover-boy.”
He’s got to be here somewhere, in the crowd, with his
brother, with his fratboy friends, drinking, checking out sluts, eyes roaming
the crowd. I wish it was me he was checking out.
Some commotion has just occurred that I missed because I was
scanning the crowd and Kayla, Celeste, and their friend Amy suddenly up and
leave Hannah and me, promising to be right back. So we dance together now,
smiling at each other, making snide comments about the skanks nearby and of
course keeping our eyes peeled for the Brothers McKinley. We get new drinks and
are quickly back to dancing.
Soon though, we’re approached by several frat guys who want
to dance with us. One of them seems pretty into me, hands sliding on my hip,
trying to yell in my ear to talk to me, but I’m not paying much attention
because I’ve finally spotted Jared and Andy in the corner of the room. Now I
can feel Mr. Fratboy’s hands slide down my side, fingers grazing the
indentation of my bare waist where my shirt has rucked itself up and then
flowing over my hips in my tight jeans. And he keeps talking, saying something
about my name, whether I want another drink and some other nonsense that I
don’t hear and don’t care to ask him to repeat.
After a few moments, I look up at him briefly and tell him
my name and then lose sight of Jared and Andy and try to pay attention to my
new sleazy fratboy, nodding my head to whatever he’s saying. Mostly though, I’m
focused on my dancing, on not spilling my drink and bringing the precious
alcohol to my lips every few minutes. I’ve gotta keep the stream of calming
syrup pretty steady or I know I’ll falter. Speaking of which, it’s time for
another drink, so I leave Mr. Fratboy for a moment and am soon back and he’s
still there, waiting for me. And my cup is almost overflowing, the foam
sloshing, so I take a few moments to suck down a few gulps of the froth and
some beer before we start dancing again. And I keep thinking how glad I am that
I had some good pre-game action earlier and I’m already getting drunk.
Don’t’cha
by the Pussycat Dolls thumps over us, the
lights dimmer now, a strobe somewhere flashing in my eyes making everyone light
and then dark and I feel his hands roaming over my hips and I lean back,
grinding against his crotch. Hannah is in front of me, dancing close, with a
guy behind her as well. At least someone is paying attention to me…
I guess
beggars can’t be choosers.
Suddenly my guy backs away and there is no one
there for a moment. I’m still holding Hannah’s hand in front of me and the
sudden void surprises me and I look quickly and see that someone else is behind
me now with a white and red hat. I turn my head again and as the strobe
flashes, my eyes meet his golden brown-green ones, very alive, very bright. It’s
Jared.
Seriously it’s Jared.
Jared in a blue t-shirt and jeans, his Red
Sox hat cocked sideways like some kind of playa. I look at Hannah and her eyes
are wide and I know I must look stunned because I never thought he’d come over
to me after what happened last time.
I look over my shoulder again and he’s staring down at me,
hands in his pockets, his expression serious, smoldering, turned on and drunk,
maybe even angry? I don’t say anything, he says nothing.
Holy fuck. Keep
dancing.
I turn around and face him, dancing for him and him alone and I
know he’s watching every movement of my hands over my hips and waist and I
know, I just know he can appreciate my body and I know I’m rocking it, grinding
down low. I mouth the words to the song and his eyes on me are so intense,
studying me, then he smiles this little angry-sexy-fuck-me grin and his
fingertips reach out and touch my hip right above my belt, warm against the
slight sheen of perspiration that coats my skin and it’s all I can see, my eyes
focused on that contact, him touching me. It’s hot, wicked fucking hot and so
is he. His fingertips burn my skin. And it’s an invitation. I don’t stop. I
move closer, my hands on his chest, slowly moving up and around his neck and
we’re touching from hip to shoulder and I keep moving, grinding myself into
him, hearing the beat of the music, following it, mesmerized, amazed that he’s
dancing with me.
I keep my eyes down because it’s almost as if I don’t want
to know what his expression is saying now. If he laughs or breaks the moment I
feel like I’ll thrash him. I focus on how my body is moving, where his hands
are, the status of my almost empty cup. The song is perfect,
doesn’t he wish
I was his girlfriend?
Doesn’t he wish he had a hot raw girlfriend like
me?
I concentrate on the words, especially the part about “a freak like me”
and it’s making my pulse race with excitement. His hands follow the beat,
moving over my hip, butt, waist, the small of my back, one sliding up under my
tiny tank top, the other hooked in my belt loops, pulling me in closer and
closer and closer. Crushing me to him.
I look up suddenly at the pressure, my chest mashed against
his. He’s looking down at me, very serious or is he angry, like he wants to
hurt me?
Wow
. His mouth is quirked, but his lips look full and kissable and
he’s damn sexy, absolutely gorgeous, his face slightly tense, but eyes
sparking, alive, almost like violence or pure electricity. On impulse, I thread
my hands around his neck, two fingers holding the edge of my dangling cup
behind his back and pull him down to me. I need to kiss him, like I did the
first time at the frat, our mouths inches from one another then he goes all the
way, his burning mouth pressed to mine, sending a shiver down my spine at our
contact.
I kiss him deeper, opening up, like sex standing up, my body
writhing against his, our lips locked, tasting one another, my arms around his
neck, his tightening around my waist. It’s fucking hot. I’m throbbing with
lust.
Fuck me
, my body is whispering, louder and louder and I really
can’t ignore it much longer. And his hands are everywhere and I’m still dancing
with him, grinding myself against him, feeling his rock hard thighs against
mine, his taut abs, my fingers in his soft hair.
God he’s a good kisser.
I’d let him do just about anything to me right now, I wouldn’t stop him. It’s
all I can focus on, him, me, his hands, mine, his mouth, his tongue, his
body...
And then he breaks away...
His hand slides off my hip and one from behind my neck, my
arms fall away from him. Gone, walking away, hotness suddenly doused with cold.
My mouth hangs open as I watch his broad back thread through the crowd.
He’s leaving!!!!
And it’s so fast that I’m lost, I
can still feel his warm mouth on mine as I watch him disappear. Finally I step
back, dizzy with disbelief. I look around me, people still dancing, couples
grinding, a girl looks over at me, smirking, while a guy rubs her hip. I
imagine her laughing. “Haha, he left you!” And even Hannah is gone, gone off
with Andy, no doubt, thinking me fine with Jared, especially when we started to
make out on the dance floor.
Fuck!
Did he want to humiliate me? Suddenly
a heavy sense of being alone washes over me. I gaze around, find a direction
and I’m out of there, looking for Hannah.
A weary feeling of depression settles over me as I squeeze
through the crowd, seeing couples together, trying to understand why he would
just walk away.
Is he fucking with me?
Why am I always having my
feelings hurt? Why am I such a loser? My confidence just evaporated.
How I
hate him.