Monday, July 11, 2011

Thirty-First Post.

It's been announced... The death of a girl I went to school with, that I used to see every single day, that I used to sit next to. Found her name, found her face, and I remember. Ghostly whispers of cruel words that spewed her mouth. I remember snapping, slamming her against the cold cement walls, coming home bleeding and bruised that day. The verbal abuse that tore a hole through my defenses as a child. I remember this girl that is now dead because of Prosper, every cruel thing she did to me. Every single tear that was shed because of her, every thought... I remember, Annie.

I never got to tell you how you fucked me over as a child. How shit was already bad but you... You just made it so much worse. I remember the knife. I remember seeing red and you bleeding in the park that afternoon. I remember, do you hear me? I remember you.

And now you're dead and gone and I'm stuck wondering if I should be happy.

Thing is, Annie, I'm not happy. I'm not relieved you've dropped dead, that your family is mourning you, because I'm not like that. I will never be like that. I won't be like you when you smiled at the deaths of my kin. I'm not going to go to your family and tell them how much of a brat you were, skew their image of their daughter. I'm not happy you are dead because now you will never know the rage and the misery and all the fucking confusion you made me feel. You will never be able to comprehend now just how you distorted my mind. How many times I had to question why no one was helping, why your friends helped you and not me, why no one did a fucking thing when they all knew what was happening, why you hated me but I never did a goddamn thing.

I see now, though, Annie. Little... Blonde... Annie. I see now you never hated me. You just hated yourself and you died hating yourself. And I think now to myself that maybe that's a fitting punishment for you, for all the pain done unto me and others. I think I'll let your memory remain in this world as the loving daughter who was good at sports, at cheerleading, the whore behind the curtains of the stage. I think I'll let that sit and stay. But we know better, Annie. You and I and all the others I tried to defend from you, we all know what you were. And now you're dead, and you're going to stay dead forever hating yourself.

Rest In Peace, Annie, for you sure as hell never made any for yourself while you were here.


  1. Shady, they say that the best punishment one can offer to one's enemies is a life well lived. You do have friends now, friends who will help you no matter what. Don't dwell on what was done, concentrate instead on what you will do. If there's one thing I've learned, particularly in the past week, it's that the past is like a bear trap that will crush your spirits more than any physical violence ever will. Be content that you were better than her, not that she's dead and gone. That's not justice. Justice is doing right and living well despite the horrors that are inflicted upon you. That's the best revenge.

  2. We all have our soul families, people who are drawn to us or that we're drawn to. That means enemies as well as friends though. Maybe she was your enemy in a past life, and her friends as well, and that's why they were so cruel.

    But you are stronger for your suffering, yes? She couldn't hurt you again, even if she was still alive. Or anyone else like her, right? Pain can sometimes be good. My friend Liger says that the butterfly is a crippled, shriveled thing if it's not made to struggle out of its cocoon. I know it's really Weird being grateful to an enemy, but everything she did contributed to who you are. So if you like yourself, she did a good thing even if it was awful. Trust me... I know all about doing awful things for good reasons.

  3. I know and yet sometimes I wonder. Oh well, live by what I know. She's already on her way to being forgotten once more, her memory is going to the morgue. Moving on, becoming better than what I was and what she was.


  4. And Tigercub, I am aware. It's been considered and being considered. Whether I like myself presently or not is still in debate. I can't like myself if I don't know myself.

    On that note, thank you too.

  5. Composure,
    you are losing it.
    You have forgotten,
    does not mean you cannot yet adapt,
    become what you are once again,
    and then more.
    Remember her face,
    feel that rage,
    embrace every wrong done against you and yours.
    Take the knife,
    take it,
    take the knife before you lose it.
    Losing it,
    you are losing it,
    you are losing your true composure.
    Become more.