The insurance company might not pay for it. I am hoping to God they won’t. And now she wants me to go see her parents. I swear I can’t fucking stand that goddamn place. I’ll probably fucking end up killing myself or something. No fucking way I’m going.
Fuck them and that.
Fuck It All.
Oh, and now they want to put me in fucking Special Ed. because of the school I missed. Kiss my diseased ass I’ll be in Special Ed! I’m not fucking Stupid!
FUCK THAT!
Oh, yeah, and I also have to go fucking under anesthesia because my stomach is bleeding. They have to do a test. Yep. Some kind of goddamn ulcer.
Gee, I wonder what the fuck that could be from?
FUCK IT ALL!!!
Dear Nobody,
All of my friends—even my ex-boyfriend—deserted me tonight. I got really wasted—and I begged them to take care of me while I was fucked up, but not one of those assholes did. They were all lying and shit to get me away from them—because I was falling around on my ass and being loud.
Geoff just completely forgot about me. And I know why, too. I have my period—so he can’t get any. Otherwise he would have probably just fucked me and let me pass out, but instead he just completely forgot about me.
The party broke up; all my friends left and I had nowhere to go. It was horrible. So I was just like, “Fuck it,” and I went back to the broken-up party and begged them to let me in and crash. They were already pissed at me and hated me for making noise.
They told me, “GET THE FUCK AWAY, YOU UGLY BITCH!”
So then I got even more pissed and told them I was staying on their porch that night.
One guy was like, “We’ll let you in if you suck our dicks!”
The other one was like, “Hell, no, I ain’t letting that bitch near my dick!”
I wouldn’t have done it anyway.
Then one of the fuckers pissed on me. Literally.
I told them to give me some money to call someone and I’d leave. They gave me a dollar in quarters and I left. I felt like shit. I was out of tears by then, and my knee was bleeding from when I fell earlier. I walked toward the payphone at Turkey Hill gas station to call Geoff, beg his forgiveness, and ask him to come and get me.
On the way over there, some guy around thirty-seven or forty-years-old asked me to get into his car. He started calling to me from across the street and I couldn’t see who it was. I thought maybe it was one of the people from the party who felt bad—and were gonna give me a ride, so I walked over to him. It was some man that I’d never seen before in my life—so I ran away from his car as fast as I could!
I had walked about halfway home, when my mom’s car pulled up next to me and I got in. Apparently a “friend” of mine had called her and told her that I was smoking weed and drinking and was walking home alone in the dark.
Yeah, tonight SUCKED!
Dear Nobody,
I only fuck the ones I love…
So why can’t I love everyone?
Everyone seems to love me…
Because they’re always trying to fuck w/ me
Dear Hayley,
Gosh I wish we were talking in person. It's been SO LONG. I miss you more than anything. No one else seems to understand things from my point of view. People take advantage of me, spit on me, and rob me when I'm out. After a while I just don't care.
I start waking up in houses I don't know, with people I don't know—with roaches and dry puke everywhere. Winter is the worst time too, because I can't just sleep in a park or alley; it's too cold. And when I'm drunk I do stupider things; like sleep in crack houses full of perverts and weirdos who are just waiting for me to pass out.
I miss Geoff sometimes, but things were so fucked up. I just HAVE TO keep on remembering that part.
Well, Hayley, write to me when you can. Remember I love you and that you are my best and only real friend in this world. Take care.
Dear Nobody,
Geoff’s friends know me better than he does. I know alcohol better than I know him. Geoff only loves me when he’s drunk. I’m still in love with him, but so what? Love is supposed to be reciprocated. This love is ruining me. I need to get rid of my love for Geoff. He’s killing me. He’s doing the worst thing he possibly could to me—HE’S IGNORING ME!
PHOENIXVILLE, PA
SPRING, 1998
Dear Nobody,
I haven’t seen Geoff in three torturous weeks and counting, a lifetime emotionally. My angel. My better half—no, my whole. My everything, my all. Even my health has never meant as much to me as he does. He helped me with my pain more than any narcotic ever had—and he’s caused me more pain then my condition ever has.
If I ever see him again, I will pluck out my own eyes, so that he is the last thing that I see.
If I ever hear his beautiful voice again, I will puncture my eardrums and make sure it’s the last sound I ever hear.
If I ever touch him again, I will offer up my body up to the Lord. I would trade his touch for the most horrifying leprosy.
I want his touch to be the last thing I ever feel.
I want to carry a part of him inside myself. I wish I could become impregnated by him and offer it up to God in a painful miscarriage, if only to have the chance to have his bloodline in my meek body. I would give up everything for the chance to have a part of him growing inside of me, even if it would inevitably perish.
My darling, my amazing and beautiful savior, I would speak the three most powerful words I know: I love you.
Then I would cut out my tongue and offer it up to God as yet another plea to be the last words ever heard from my mouth. And while I am lying somewhere a deaf, infertile, mutilated, blind leper—I wouldn’t wish any of it back.
Not for a second.
Dear Nobody,
It happened again last night. I just keep slowly fucking up my life. Every weekend it gets worse and worse. The shit just piles up. It’s like I’m drowning and have nothing to grab onto—because everything else is sinking, too. It’s like I never mean to fuck up so bad, it just happens.
I was arrested again last night. I was out past curfew and trespassing. It was cold out and I had a skirt on, and no coat. I had a coat earlier that night, but it got stolen. While I was in this place trespassing, the owner came running out. We all ran, but I was behind everyone and didn’t see where they went. It was raining and freezing. I lost my (favorite) shoes and had to keep running. I ran an entire mile home with no shoes and no coat; soaking wet from the rain. What’s weird is that—I couldn’t feel the sleety rain beating down on me—and I couldn’t feel the cold—or the small sharp rocks under my feet—as I ran. It’s like I was numb. I didn’t even run out of breath or energy—I just kept running. I liked how my shadow looked laying on the street and the noise my feet made splashing through puddles. I thought everything was going to be okay and that I had escaped. Then I saw the cop car ahead of me and heard the cop call my name. I was almost home, too—I probably would have made it if only I hadn’t stopped running. But stupid me, I stopped, and got arrested for the however many-ith time.
It was five in the morning at the station when my mom was called to come pick me up. She was obviously pissed, and I was inevitably ashamed and humiliated, once again. Even though I hate her right now, I STILL feel bad for letting her down.
I got a letter in the mail today saying I owe like $400 for fines by April. Or else, they said, they would have to take further action…
Dear Sum-body,
They were taking the batteries out from the remotes (in case I tried to hit them with it). They all talked in complete codes, purposely played that video game.
Everything I saw was sex of devil-like stuff.
Eating a cookie was awesome. So was drinking Gatorade.
It turned to daytime after being under a lot of trees for a
while.
Paranoia kicked in, I wondered what they were doing in the front seat. Kept seeing (three boys at a Uni-mart, one girl maybe eleven years or older) and a skateboard.
Everyone positioned; standing right to make a perfect abduction, back-up plan and all.
Like prostitution, only all you get to do is look.
Crack whores pounding on the door.
Sixteen year old guy that's Mac and sells weed.
Everyone is sinister, up to something.
The sky looked cool.
Snakeman.
Snake, man.
Rocks came up from the ground.
He was showing him which moves to make—and how—and when.
Dear Nobody,
The day after I was gang-raped, I woke up alone. I lay still on the mattress, pretending to be one of its many stains. A fluorescent blue light was coming in through the window and it poured over my body like an evaporated pool of calm—with deepness too thick to feel, only strong enough to sense. Was I laughing or crying? It was too dark in the room to check my reflection in the cracked mirror—I’m the last person I wanted to see right then anyway.
I wanted to move. I HAD to move, but could not. The loose spring stabbed at me through the mattress’s worn, dingy cloth. I could feel it in the small of my back. Jabbing at me—poking me with its sharpness; scratching me with its dullness. I felt it under me; trying to bond me to it, trying to attach us—make us connect somehow.
It’s only a spring.
ONLY A SPRING?
Maybe it isn’t pulling me to it—maybe it’s trying to repel me? Trying to make me leave? Maybe it knows that I don’t belong here? That this isn’t me? That this isn’t my home? Maybe that spring knows that those guys could have killed me? Killed me, like a roach. The thought crossed my mind a hundred times. Probably crossed their minds, too.
The mattress is still damp with sweat.
Is this really as it seems?
How did this happen?
Shut up, spring, I feel you.
Dear Nobody,
Rape is by far the most degrading, disgusting, horrifying, depraved act of humanity ever invented. No words can describe the sheer terror of the rape’s moments. Moments that last for hours. Hours that turn to days. Days that turn into a lifetime. And the terror, it never leaves. NOT EVER. Oh, it diminishes some, but only to make room for the paranoia—severe, chronic paranoia, the kind that stays with you—behind you—in front of you—ready to reach up from your own shadow and drag you with it back into the darkness—back into the worst part of fear—to the unknown.
Dear Nobody,
Panic—I am taken back to that time, to a place that I never knew existed, until those boys took me and gang-raped me—and left me there. It’s a panic attack that rushes through my body, completely uninvited, just how THEY came—completely uninvited. As the taste swells in my throat, I go into shock.
Did those boys over there say, “HOLD HER,” or did they say “OLDER?” Are they really talking about football, or ME? Why did they just look at each other like that?
I’m losing control. I sense what it means to walk into a room, and immediately take caution to where every man in the room is at all times. It’s paying more attention to dialogue, and listening closely for any hidden meaning or code. It means never stepping too far away from the nearest exit, in case I’ll need to run. It means looking around the room for anything to use as a weapon. From remote controls to firepokers to telephones, I keep my eye on them at all times. It’s sitting on a single chair, instead of a couch. It’s watching for sudden movements in everyone.
It can’t happen again. It CAN’T happen again. I tense up. I can’t breathe. Do they know I know? I’ll act like I don’t know, so they won’t hurt me or kill me.
If it happens again, I’ll kill myself.
Why? Why did I ever go there? I KNEW it. It’s all MY FAULT.
I should have NEVER left the house.
Dear Nobody,
I really wish I could get amnesia and forget everyone and everything that has happened to me. I’m starting to wonder what I’m good for…
I don’t have low self-esteem, but I think I can be a horrible person—bossy or selfish. I guess I am, because all the times I’ve been anything different, I still get the same results—only with a little less respect. What’s going on? I never imagined it would turn out like this, but then I KNEW it all along. I wonder if in heaven I can forget my past?
I can’t believe how horrible and worthless I’ve gotten to be. The only way to hide it is to act over-proud and be grandiose. At least then I can pretend, but I wonder how I keep going on like this? I don’t even know if heaven could make me happy. On a talk show I heard a renowned psychic say, “It doesn’t get any worse than this” (meaning life after death), but does it get any better?
Maybe it’s like a test, and I’m Job from the Bible or something? Can I ever really be happy? I just want to completely forget who I’ve been and who I’ve known.
Dear Nobody,
Am I as different as I think I am? Am I as different as I feel? I’ve tried, but I cannot explain my exploration of the dark alleys and shadows—the more dangerous, the better. I’m never sure of just what it is I’m looking for, but I always find something—from rapists to rape victims, I find them all. What’s so unintelligible to me is that I don’t fear any of it. Yes, instinct finds me when I sense the person behind me walking too close for comfort, but instead of avoiding the situation, I sought it out by just going there. Does that make it my fault? No, I don’t ask for trouble, but I also don’t deny it my time and chance.
Maybe it’s just that I’m searching in all of the wrong places for what I may possibly never attain? But exactly what I’m looking for is a mystery even to myself. In a word I could say “more” but as to more of what—I am completely oblivious. But isn’t it better to drink dirty water than thirst to death?
Dear Nobody,
I’ll think that I am ugly
And blame it on the media
I’ll kill myself and blame the legends
We all die at 13 anyway
I’ll get raped and blame myself
We’ve all been raped before anyway
I’ll think that I could never fit in
And blame it on the other kids
I’ll be an alcoholic
And blame it on my past
I’ll have fat thighs and blame it on my mother
I’ll abuse my kids and blame it on my father
I’ll steal a watch from Walmart
And blame it on my income
I’ll never learn to read
And blame it on A.D.D.
I’ll never tell anybody I love you
And then blame it on them for not telling me
I’ll become a racist, and blame it on an incident
I’ll go and do something very stupid
And I’ll blame it all on my youth
I’ll be an American
And I’ll blame it on America.
Dear Geoff,
Geoff, do you feel ANYTHING for me? Please don't ever let me know if it's just physical—I'd be so humiliated.
Geoff—do you think I'm crazy? Everyone else does; I don't know if I care though. But it's so humiliating. I use that word a lot. HUMILIATING—I feel that a lot.
Am I stupid, Geoff? I really feel like it, but I'm not sure. I'm always fucking everything up for myself. Other people sometimes help, but it really all starts with ME. And I can't help it. I won't blame myself, because I really don't try to be stupid. Actually, I remember you calling me stupid. We were both drunk. You called me a stupid bitch and I punched you. You got really pissed and I said sorry over and over again, until I finally started breaking shit and you accepted my apology—probably so I would stop breaking things. I humili
ated myself that night.
Geoff, what do you really think about me? Maybe someday I'll just humiliate myself too much and just let you know how I really am on the inside. I tried to that night I told you about my “condition.” That memory still humiliates me—everyday. Maybe if I knew you loved me, I wouldn't feel humiliated all the time. Because I love you—but you already know that.
Love forever,
Mary Rose
Dear Nobody,
It rained all day today. The rain can be so sad. Maybe it’s all of those times that I refused to cry, or couldn’t cry, coming back to me. The whole world’s tears that have never been cried; and all the clouds look like tears yet to come. The storm is supposed to move on by tonight—I hope I can do the same. At least Traci knows about my disease—and about me getting raped—and doesn’t judge me or think it’s my fault.
PHOENIXVILLE, PA
SUMMER, 1998
Dear Nobody,
I’m so bored. I’m so confused. My life is still so empty. No friends, bad dreams, no life. I’m going to try to get a job as a hostess at some restaurant, or maybe at this nursing home. I’m only gonna work where other kids are working, so maybe I can meet some people to maybe be my friend or pass time with at least or something.
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