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awad: October – wednesday.20.2.08.

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For the last two weeks, it's been grey skies and rain on the window panes, staring out to the street from the kitchen and waiting for my life to begin.

September was lovely and warm, and i don't know where it went. I guess that just takes me back to the old saying: That which is good cannot be made to stay; that which is bad cannot be made to go away.

(Okay, so it's not an old saying. I just made it up myself, with my dreary outlook on human existence as my inspiration. What did you expect.)

On a dismal October afternoon, i implode from months of silence and confess to my mother that i wanted to kill myself. She looks back at me from the stove. “I thought you said you would never do that.”

I wouldn't, i tell her. I wanted to kill myself, i didn't say i had been planning to. She seems to believe me and turns back to making dinner. I'm asking myself why in hell i told her this. I'm wondering why she thinks of herself as someone i can talk to about anything when i think of her as someone who needs to be protected from learning of what is on, or in, my mind, because it worries her to know.

A fact is that when i confide in you, i regret it, always. I'm sorry mother, that there are a figurative thousand things i wish i had never told you.