Throwaway Objects

found this letter in old boxes of writings…based on the fact that it mentions my grandmother’s passing a week prior–it had to have been written in november of 2003. reading this letter, i am struck sadly by how sick i already was. it really was just a chutes & ladder game kind of slide into that suicide attempt the following year. my guess is that anyone who knew these thoughts were inside of me was probably not at all surprised by what i did and they were probably just waiting for that collision with fate.  i am unsure who the intended recipient of this letter was….maybe no one at all. 


i am sitting here at work in this high wheelie chair that is upholstered in a 70’s brown orange color that only existed in 70’s suburban living rooms across america, always married to that godawful avocado green. no, no–not at my grandma’s house though. she did her living room in mauve and rose…prettier ways of saying pink and maroon. there are boxes of yellow post-it notes on the counter and i wonder why they make them in such a pretty subdued yellow. they’re just post-its. throwaway objects.

my newly dyed chestnut hair looks like a nancy drew rip-off. i took the time to dress nicely, make up my face, do my hair. the library is empty so no one will ever know. people aren’t witnessing my existence much these days–how do i know i haven’t disappeared? i don’t. i just looked at a picture my friend put online of us–to assure myself i’m ok. but i’m not sure at all that i am. i’m smiling in the picture. my grandma passed away a little over a week before. it looks hideous to me, my smile. i would get satisfaction from ripping the picture up into confetti-but it is online. and not mine. and no one has to know my grandma died a little over a week before it was taken.

i have been on the run since 8 this morning. it’s 6 now and i have not had a moment to myself. and after this, i’m getting food and then practicing. i have seating auditions on monday. i still will not be prepared. if only i could just care.

i’m online and i have many people on my list-but no one talks to me. i wish i only had 2 people on my list. then i wouldn’t feel like such a social tumor if that was the case.

there’s a window across the library that reflects me…but i question its authenticity when it cuts me off at the waist where the desk is. a kid hustles in in a winter jacket with a ski cap pulled over long dirty blond hair. i think he was in my theory class last year. i wonder if he doesn’t remember me as well as i don’t remember him. but you can’t ask people questions like that. they just look at you funny. this, this i have learned.

i’m still sitting at the desk. i unwrap the scotch tape and leave my fingerprints on the stick side before rolling it back up. visible on invisible. evidence of my ever-diminishing presence.

pat g. has a girlfriend. i should have known. he comes from syracuse and went to hs with my cousin. now he’s here. at fre-fucking-donia. and he has a g/f. i wonder if his parents like her. i wonder if his friends would like her if they were all 5 playing in the sandbox, building and stomping each others sandcastles. i don’t know her. i wonder if the kids i built sandcastles with when i was 5 liked me. i don’t remember. i remember big red waffle textured rubber bouncing balls that were easy to kick. i remember the primary colored rug that had numbers and letter on it. i wore saddle shoes then, i remember that too. the rest is a sucking wound…a black hole of forgotten childhood memories…

it’s snowing lightly and in the lamplight it looks like glitter. it was so pretty as i walked back to my room that i felt tears in my eyes. it looked like a christmas card–the trees making the path seem like a tunnel. only i knew i shouldn’t be in this scene. it was just too still and beautiful and quiet, up against the backdrop of dorms where people are getting ready for their nights of partying. maybe that’s what was responsible for my tears. i came upstairs and sat in my empty, dark room for a few minutes, turned on a light and some mtv that i didn’t even watch. then i went downstairs and had a few beers with jen, beth & kym. we played “power hour with shot glasses. after a while, we kept forgetting to watch the clock and randomly slammed back the alcohol. kym regaled us with her version of “girl talk”…..i didn’t regale her back with “girl listen.” we moved the party to mike’s room. (jen’s boyfriend.) we drank some more. i stared out the window in my social awkwardness and dismayedly noticed some idiot is ruining the snow by tromping around writing messages in it with their boots. this made me feel sad again. i went upstairs and passed out…

next day-
even though it’s a saturday, i’m on a schedule because i vowed to practice 3 hours yesterday. i did 1 1/2 hours & felt so tired and unhappy that i started crying and packed up. i have auditions for seating on monday. i hate what i’m doing. i’m so miserable. and lonely. and disappearing.

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August 20, 2018

I’m sorry you were in pain then.