entry four reasons for dying
Dear Journal,
John never called me yesterday. And he still hasn't called me today. I knew I never should have told him. I mean, how would that go over in our school if we started dating, anyway? I can already hear Kirsten Lorenz's superficial snoody voice."Did you hear? John Sheins and Jessica Dean are going out!... yea, that suicidal girl and the wannabe emo kid... I know, isn't that so funny? And I was here thinking she was a lesbian. Shit,maybe she is. I mean, have you seen Johns hair? Put some eyeliner on him and he could pass as a girl himself. Oh thats right, he already wears eyeliner. Fag." Geez. Why am I dissing John now? He's still my best friend... I think... I hope. And I need to stop caring what other people think. That's what got me into Dr. Sanders office and starting this stupid journal in the first place. Fucking piece of shit, worthless, good for nothing, over-paid guidance counselor, Dr. Sanders. Why the hell did you have to notice me? Nobody else ever fucking does. I dont need help. I wouldn't ever need help if it wasn't for a God damn coward,and astupid, ignorant, ridiculous, loser called Jessica Dean... Shit... I just read that last sentence. Why am I getting so down on myself. It's not like me and John would ever start dating anyway. And even if we did, my mom would find out, andshe'd castrate him. And then she would ground me until I was middle aged, unsuccessful, and single. Who cares anyway. My whole reason for living is a dead issue now. Both of my reasons for living are dead now. My father... I miss him. I miss him so much. What would he say if he saw me right now? It doesn't matter, because that's never gonna happen. Ever. Not ever again. My daddy's gone.
Jessica Dean
entry five there's beauty in this breakdown
Dear Journal,
It's Monday. After I finished writing, John still never called me. I got sick of waiting, and to be honest, sick of living too, so I went to sleep at about 8, hoping that the dark shroud of sleep would block all other thoughts. Since it is currently after school, I have a lot to tell you. But I really don't feel like it. I think I just want to go back to sleep. Ah, what the hell. I've got nothing else to lose. Maybe my sanity? Nah, that's gone too. I saw John today, after school. Finally. He tried to duck around a corner, but I grabbed him. He had a look on his face that clearly read "I don't want to be in this situation" but I forced it upon him. Hey, I deserved answers. I looked at him, hard. I searched his face. His eyes were avoiding mine. But when they finally met by some strange chance of horrible doom, his expression changed completely. It was confused, hurt, concerned, and scared. He was weak. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. I realizedthat I had a sad expression on my face. Nothing else but sad.We stood there, speechless, just looking at eachother for about three minutes.I felt like I was going to cry, and I must have looked like it too, so I moved, slowly to stare at the floor in failure. His hand gently caught my chin before I got there. "Jess..." softlymet my ears. Only above a whisper, concerned, gentle. "I... Maybe.... You're a...... I... love you too..." He just barely got this out, before a single tear streamed down my face. I felt a "but" in there. And here it comes... "but, we... could never... you're my best friend... and... just... I can't be... your friend still... if I..." he broke off. AndI don't thinkI was absorbing any of this the way I was meant to. "Jess, I need to... leave... you. I... I just can't be around you anymore. It... It makes me crazy." He said, starting to get frustrated and a little louder. But his voice quivered and cracked the tiniest bit as he said this. "I have my reasons, an when I'm ready... I'll come find you." Many more silenttears had come and gone by the time I understood what he was saying. And they just kept coming, and wouldn't stop. And then, out of completely nowhere he kissed me. It was a melancholy kiss. I could feel the sadness in it. It was a goodbye kiss. And then I came home. Last night, I had a dream about my father. But I don't want to remember it. Maybe I'll tell you tomorrow. I kinda don't feel like it right now...
Jessica Dean
entrysix daddy come home
Dear Journal,
I never told you how my father died, did I? It wasn't a car crash, it wasn't old age, it wasn't sickness, it wasn't drug abuse, and it was not suicide. It was murder. Played out to look like a suicide. He was found in our basement. He was against the wall, and his wrists were bleeding. The police took one look at him, and wrote suicide on the police report. But no one even bothered to look closer. I was the one who found him. I went over to him, and I looked at his wrists. I just stood there. Daddy, why?I noticedthat there was a rope next to him thatI had never seen before. it wasabout 8 feet long.Just thrown there.I knew my father didn't commit suicide, but I was too young to figure out exactly what it was that had happened.I sat down next to his mangled body and cried. I stayed there for about a half an hour, until my mom came down. I can still remember everything. "Jess, what's taking you so God damn.... Oh my God." She froze on the spot. Half the way down the stairs. Her voice quiet and monotone from here on in. "My husband committed suicide. Richard. My husband is dead. My Richard is gone. Forever." That "forever" was all to defined and permanent. She didn't even shed a tear. I wasten years old. Over these last few years, I've decided that they could have strangled him with the rope, waited until he suffocated and then slit his wrists, but the rope seemed too long for that. I have come to the conclusion, that someone tied my daddy up, slit his wrists real deep, and watched him bleed to death before removing the rope. I had a dream the other night, that I watched this. I watched a masked stranger tie up my father, and prop him against the wall. It was late at night. I turned away because I refused to watch it. I closed my eyes real tight and told it to go away. When I opened my eyes I was facing my father, and I had a razor blade in my hand. I kneeled down and slit his wrists, with absolutely no remorse. I watched my father wince, as he tried not to make much noise at the risk ofwaking anyone up. "Tell Jessica I love her." and then... he died. I woke up immediately after that, and I cried for a long time. I killed my father. I killed my father.
Jessica Dean