Sunday, December 21, 2008

fire walk with me



... I told him that BOB was getting very very close and that I was trying as hard as I could to write about him to find out what he was, who he was, before he could get to me. I had been writing so much about him in my diary in poems and dreams and each time I did it I would see him at my window or feel him coming closer, but I wasn't sure if it was paranoia. . . . I just wanted to be normal. I just want to be like everybody else. I don't like having to be careful of who to talk to because someone might hate me if they knew the truth about me, about how dirty I am. And how somehow, I don't remember it, but, somehow everyday I asked to be treated this way. It always happens, so it must be something I don't realize I say, or something I think. I told him how I went to my safety deposit box and how I saw the drug money there and I had a fantasy about taking it and running away forever. But I didn't deserve that. I deserved to stay here. I had done something wrong. My heart hurt so badly, but I knew I had to stay.
I took the responses from my ad in Fleshworld home with me and stayed up all night putting pictures of me and my panties into envelopes . . . and how I had to keep getting higher and higher on coke so I wouldn't break down and cry and I didn't want anyone to hear my cries because they didn't matter to them anyway. They never have.

Love, Laura



PAGE RIPPED OUT
(as found)



PAGE RIPPED OUT
(as found)



Dear Diary,Undated

I know who he is. I know exactly who and what BOB is, and I have to tell everyone. I have to tell someone and make them believe.
Someone has torn pages out of my diary, pages that help me realize maybe . . . pages with my poems, pages of writing, private pages.
I'm so afraid of death.
I'm so afraid that no one will believe me until after I have taken the seat that I fear has been saved for me in the darkness. Please don't hate me. I never meant to see the small hills and the fire. I never meant to see him or let him in.
Please, Diary, help me explain to everyone that I did not want what I have become. I did not want to have certain memories and realizations of him. I only did what any of us can do, in any situation. . . .
My very best.

Love, Laura

P.S. I'm giving you to Harold for safekeeping. I hope I see you again. I can't stay sober anymore. I just can't. I have to be numb.


THE PRECEDING WAS LAURA'S LAST
ENTRY. SHE WAS FOUND DEAD JUST
DAYS LATER.

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