nooneknows

    Last night I got the giggles when I was trying to fall asleep. My husband was getting angry with me because I woke him up. I couldn’t help myself. Everything I thought of was funny to me, so I had to think of something that was sad, so I thought of death. I am a grown woman who should not be giggling in bed like a school girl at a sleep over party with her little school girl friends.
     I am a grown woman who still has stuffed animals, and who still thinks that these stuffed animals comfort me when I am sad and there is no one else to hug. I am a grown woman who still believes that there is one person out there for each one of us, and we need to find that one person and if we don’t then we will live the rest of our lives lonely and unhappy. I believe in soulmates.
     When no one is looking sometimes I sing to myself, and when I am in the car alone, I turn the radio up loud and belt out whatever song happens to be playing. But when I come to a stoplight, I stop singing because I don’t want other people to look at me and think I am weird and laugh at me.
     When no one is around, sometimes I pretend that I am surrounded by a lot of friends and people who love me and I pretend that my phone never stops ringing with calls from people who want to see me and to talk to me. I pretend that I am wanted.
     Sometimes when I am alone and I want to feel better about myself, I will put on nice clothes and do my hair and makeup all up nice, and sometimes even paint my nails and give myself a pedicure so that I can appreciate the beauty I have, even if no one else is around to share it with me.
     Sometimes when I am alone, I enjoy the time that I have by myself, since I am my own best friend. But that doesn’t happen all too often. More likely, I lay in bed, wishing that there was no such thing as responsibility and all I had to do in life was eat mint chocolate chip ice cream and watch scary movies in bed, and that I had an endless supply of movies to keep me entertained for the rest of my life while I lay in bed alone and comfortable, snuggling under my crisp, cool sheets and fluffy pillows. Then I will drift off to sleep.
     Sometimes when no one is around, I will eat all the bad foods that I am not supposed to have and would get lectured by my husband for eating, and I eat them and hide the wrappers, and then I get upset for all the weight I have gained recently that I can’t seem to get rid of and I wonder why I am so fat.
     Sometimes when I am alone and have nothing to do, I leave the house and I go to the park and I read in my car. I read books about mystery and murder and I wish I could write the way they do in these novels, with such suspense. And I look out the window and I watch people eating their lunches on the park benches and I wish that I could eat my lunch on a park bench, but if I left my car then everyone would stare at me and I would panic, so I just stay in my car where it is safe and no one pays me any mind.
     Sometimes when I think too hard I think of all the times that I have been wronged in the past and I cannot release the bitterness that is locked up in my soul and in my heart, and this poisons me. I wish I could forget what they did to me, and what he did especially.
     Did you know that I wish I was younger? I am young now, but I want to be a child again, to go back to having no concept of what life really is and all the unfair bullshit that comes along with the reality of growing up. I want to be five years old again, and the most important thing on my mind is whether or not the sun will be out and can I play outside or will it rain today? I want to put all my bills in the paper shredder and laugh with delight. I would pick up all the shredded pieces of paper by the handfuls, and toss them in the air, as I watched the snowflake-like pieces flit around my head and drop to the floor, some landing in my hair and making a nest there.
     And when I have nothing to do and my mind is racing with a million thoughts and ideas that are waiting to blossom, I take out a pen and paper, or I sit at my computer and I write. I write whatever thoughts come to mind. Sometimes they are disturbing ones and they upset other people, and sometimes they are sad and make me cry, or sometimes I write about things that are happy or things that don’t make sense, but I have fun when I write and I like the way that I am able to express myself. And when I write, it is okay for me to be alone. But when I am done writing, I want to have people to share what I have written with, but there is no one to read what I wrote, no one to tell me how talented I am and how successful I could be. Even my husband, when he comes home at night, does not want to read what I have written. I guess he thinks that I don’t have the talent for writing that I wish I had, which I guess would coincide with everything he has ever told me in the past about myself, that I am an untalented no-good whore. Well, I don’t think he called me the whore part but I will add that in for effect. And, well, he probably never actually said that I was untalented, but sometimes there are things that you don’t need to vocalize to someone in order for them to know how you really feel anyway. Oh well. Screw him. And screw all of you who are sitting there laughing at me now, with your feeble little minds and your dark, uncaring eyes that I look into and see into the depths of your souls and realize that you have no heart and that you are a direct product of the devil himself. And I hear what you whisper to each other now, feeling sorry for me that I look and act the way that I do. Well go to hell, all of you! And these men that are here now, surrounding me in this small white room with no windows who are trying to take my arms and hold me down to the ground can go to hell too! And they can take this needle they are trying to shove in my arm and shove it up their ass instead. They think they are going to help me get better by putting their poison in me again! They’ve got another thing coming to them! SHIT! He got me! That motherfucker stuck the goddamn needle in my fucking arm and I am getting numb now, and tired too. They can still go to hell, all of them. I will deal with them when I wake up from my nap, and I will finish writing my memoirs for all of you to read when I wake up too, so that you can be warned about these men, the men with the needles so that you do not end up like me in this little white room with no windows, with no one to talk to but yourself and the goddamn rats.

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