-written on Sunday 21/11/2010-
“Dear Alice. Things are bad again...”
I remember using that line shortly after watching New Moon from the Twilight Saga. I remember that things WERE indeed bad again.
The day before yesterday, Trix used that line and I very proudly claimed that line as MINE! But I sensed that both of our tempers were on the rise and that a fight was bound to happen so I used the “whatever”-card. I use that card a lot lately. That card, and the “it’s complicated, I shut down”-card. Because that’s what I do lately – I shut down when things become too complicated.
Unfortunately I think I’m staring one bad-ass, m-effer of a complication in the face and with this one I can’t just turn and run. I’d love to bow my head, pull my tail between my legs and start sulking like a puppy that couldn’t move out of his drunk owner’s way fast enough and got stepped on. I’d love to start looking for the nearest exit and flee, but I’m afraid this time I’ll have to push out my claws and etch tar as I run head first into the eye of this storm.
Cat’s mother discovered that we’ve been talking and seeing each other in private. I was with Cat at her work when her mother called and asked “what she had to know about the two of us”. Seeing Cat’s expression freeze and hearing her heartbeat slow to nearly a complete halt, immediately told me “RUN! Jaydy, RUN!” But... I waited. Things were going so good again and I was just starting to believe that they couldn’t fall apart again. When she hung up, I asked if I should run and my suspicions were confirmed: all is discovered; flee at once.
Then I went to the wimpy and waited for the friend with whom I would’ve gone out that night and nearly started freaking out. My heart raced, my lungs shrank, my palms became sweaty. I ordered a soda and lit a cigarette. (I was kind of disappointed that the waiter didn’t ask for identification. Now that I’m eighteen I can legally enter a smoking section of a restaurant, but now that I’m eighteen, no-one asks for I.D anymore. I guess they just deduce from my casual way of stepping through the glass doors to the designated smoking area that I am allowed.)
It wasn’t long before my friend showed up. He’s a second-year law-student and he was just the guy I needed to see. His boyfriend is a qualified general lawyer with background knowledge of children’s cases so my friend was able to provide me with quite a few answers. Answers that were better than any Valium I could ever need!
Now that Cat’s mother found us out, I was afraid she’d get a restraining order against me. Technically she can. Cat isn’t legal yet so her legal guardians have full consent over matters like that. The good news, though, is that in order to get a restraining order against me Cat’s mother is going to need a minimum of ten thousand rand in lawyer and court fees, and it’s going to take at least ten to twelve months to finalize the thing. And by then, Cat will be eighteen and legal and able to override the thing. Cat doesn’t want a restraining order against me. Her stuck-up, tyrannous, overweight, undereducated, selfish, insecure mother wants a restraining order against me.
All of this might seem like a great relief as it actually means that I can SEE Cat, but I’m still shaking in my boots because of that beast of a woman! (Forgot to add: that day, after my friend arrived at the Wimpy and gave me the good news, we quickly went to the ice-cream shop to tell Cat. Moments later her mother showed up. I got the fright of my life, my friend feared for HIS safety and Cat just froze; just pulled her tail between her legs, bowed her head, retracted her claws and let her mother walk all over her again.)
Anyway, the reason I’m so fearful is that neither Cat’s mother nor her new husband is correctly wired above. The husband is sick. And not as in “cough-cough”. As in the kind of sick person whose penis I’d chop off. Not letting any details slip, as I respect privacy (unlike Cat’s mother and stepfather), but he’s sick and unstable. In my opinion. She, the mother, has threatened me that her husband will hit the shit out of me if I touch “his” daughter. And Cat told me that he threatened to shoot one of her other guy-friends. Firstly, CAT IS NOT HIS DAUGHTER! Secondly, who the hell is he to threaten me after what he’s done to her!?
So... Instead of facing this black widow and her...uhm...man, I’m going to crawl up behind them and take them out at the knee, metaphorically. I’m going to contact a social worker about the conditions under which Cat currently has to live and then I’m going to help Cat find a place of her own, if the social worker is unable to place her in foster care. Once that’s done I’ll be able to peacefully see and talk to her. At least then we won’t have to glance over our shoulders all the time.
Hold thumbs that this plan works as I have no Plan B yet.
Seeing Cat again these last few weeks has been... Good. It has given me a bit of strength and I’m feeling stronger than the last time I was left without her. I wonder if I am now ready to move on and away from her. It still very much seems like that is what she wants me to do. She’s moved on and she doesn’t seem to be planning on moving back.
Things are, unfortunately, still a bit sketchy between my new boyfriend (from here-on referred to as “Lucy”) and I. We’ve been together for two weeks today but we’ve both been too nervous to even kiss each other. Yet we both feel like there’s something big for the two of us in the future. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. Unfortunately, patience is not one of my stronger points. “Patience is key”, I have been told. My comeback? “Yeah, the key to my DEATH!”
I have been becoming just as suicidal as I was a few months ago. Only this time I have absolutely no resources to ease the pain, attempt a coma or even death. None, except the bridge that stands a ten-minute-walk away from my house, but that is not a route I would want to go down. Jumping. When people commit suicide they often believe it will be painless and choosing a method like jumping, especially if from high enough, will be painless enough for the... Victim? For the ESCAPEE! There are then some smart-asses that debate that suicide is not painless, regardless of the method involved, as the people that are left behind are the ones who will be experiencing the pain. And I do agree. Losing someone to suicide is... Hell. That’s why suicide amongst teenagers often trigger a nuclear string of suicides through-out their peers.
The long explanation and background info on suicide is my reason why I wouldn’t jump. If I did decide to end my life, I would want to die a clean death. Slightly dramatic, but subtle. I wouldn’t use a gun or a knife or any other method that will cause a large amount of blood to travel OUT of my body. Nor would I hang myself. Gosh, that sounds so harsh just typing it! ~Shivers~ I would prefer to die peacefully without a fuss. Maybe even without a funeral. If I overdosed then obviously eventually my body would be found and I’d be buried. But with a method like the one Ingrid Jonker chose, I am left with the question: will there be a funeral.
For those of you who don’t know, Ingrid Jonker was a magnificent Afrikaans poet that suffered with depression for many years. One could deduce from her work that she and I are a lot alike: gentle, subtle, yet dramatic. She walked into the ocean one night. Perhaps I should do some research. I can’t exactly recall what the poem’s name was, but a few months before she killed herself, she wrote a poem predicting what she was going to do. I can also not remember whether her body was ever found. That’s why I’m wondering if my body will ever be found if I walked into the ocean. It seems a romantic death to die. Maybe “romantic” isn’t the right word, but it seems sentimental, peaceful. Maybe even painless, even for those left behind. If the body is never found, how will anyone know it was suicide if no note was left? That way people could think it was just a freak accident or something and not blame themselves for not being able to stop me from doing it.
I have always been a rather subtle soul. Gentle. Quiet. Peaceful. Introverted. ‘n Een-kant-kind. Lucy describes himself with that word, too. We are so much alike. Same fears. Same likes. Same dislikes. Same desires. Same backgrounds. Same youths. Same interests...
Anyway, I’m wandering off topic here. I was talking about my suicidality. I don’t mean to be of any harm to anyone, but it’s best I tell someone. It’s best I say it, because one day I will keep quiet and I’ll never speak again after that. I want you all to know that I didn’t ask to have these feelings. I didn’t choose to suffer from depression. Just like you can’t exactly prevent a cold, I couldn’t prevent contracting depression. It’s not my fault and nor is it yours! So I don’t want any of you blaming yourselves for anything that happens to me.
I can of course point fingers but why should I? With most of the people towards whom I could point, I have some background information and understanding with regards to their choices. I understand Cat’s decisions. I understand my parents’ decisions. I understand Lucy’s.
Yet... “Things are bad again...”
Last night my brother went wacko on us again. Assaults, aggression, violence, invasion of privacy, theft, trying to light me on fire. The usual. And it seems the latter IS becoming part of the usual. Lately, every time my brother goes nuts, he tries to light me on fire. Or he warms some metal object and pushes it against my bare skin because that way he can burn me faster and easier. If he uses just a lighter or matches, I am usually able to kill the flame before he can touch me or my clothes with it.
Two things that frustrate me endlessly about a situation like that:
1. My dad does NOTHING! He stands at my door aiding my brother in the emotional part of the abuse by agreeing with the things he says to me, by telling me that I should’ve listened and stayed in my room like a trapped bird, a slave, a refugee, or by telling me to just lie or sit still and take what I asked for. How the hell can ANY person in their right mind expect me to keep still while a mad person is trying to cut me with a craft-knife or to burn me alive!?
2. The other thing that I don’t understand, and that thus frustrates me, is that he leaves no proof of anything he does. He never leaves bruises or cuts or any physical marking that could indicate recent assault. He did break open my knuckles with the top of a soda bottle once, and, having finally had enough proof to lock him away, I called the police. Unfortunately the pathetic SAPS couldn’t help; said it was a “family matter: the parents’ problem; go to court”.
I have no idea what I am going to do about my brother’s fits, but something needs to be done. We all love him, when he’s loveable, but when he’s not, he’s just too easy to hate. He’s too violent; too unstable; too inconsiderate; too heartless. I can take the heat until I move out, whenever that might be, even if it’s only in years from now, but my mother and father are the ones I’m concerned about. My dad is old and he won’t be able to handle everything much longer. My mother is very fragile and she and I are the ones that suffer the most under my brother’s iron fist and my father’s stone heart. If I somehow, someday, manage to move out, I can’t just leave her in the same house as that kid. That’s why it would be better if my brother was removed. Financially we’d be better off. We’d be safer. Less embarrassed. Life will be good again.
But my parents won’t ever lock him away. They do care about me, somewhere deep down I’m sure they do. But the problem is that they care about him too. Perhaps too much. I know – their priorities are seriously haywire!
I had a few interesting conversations this morning. Spoke to Trix. Spoke to Moonflower. Cat was online but we didn’t speak. Her mother probably has her phone again.
Moonflower fell asleep in a guy’s arms for the first time last night. Apparently he... Nope. Confidential. I’ll just skip to the part where I tell you how she felt about it. Most parents wouldn’t be too proud of something like that, and that should prevent teenagers from doing it. But it doesn’t. Teenagers fall in love and fall... well... asleep. Just being in someone’s arms the whole night is so relaxing. Such a soothing thought. It isn’t a very extravagant act and it’s nowhere near actual intercourse, even if kissing is involved, but it leaves a lasting impression. It leaves you with the feeling of just wanting to get back in bed because you’d rather be there, then, with him or her, than ANYWHERE else on earth. It calms you. Well, it calms me and it is something I miss dearly, but it is also something I’m scared of experiencing again. To sleep in another person’s arms for an entire night takes a lot of trust. You open your heart and you let that person in. You trust that they’ll keep you safe; safer than you could’ve kept yourself whilst being in the Rapid-Eye-Movement period.
I’m afraid I won’t be able to crawl back out of my shell and that I won’t be able to let someone new in.
Another interesting conversation I had was with Trix. She walks and talks in her sleep. Now, at first, it might make you burst out in laughter, but have you ever wondered what causes it? Isn’t it scary that your subconscious could have so much control that it could actually pick you up out of bed and make you have conversations that you don’t even know about? It’s like living with multi-personalities. When one of your other personalities or your subconscious takes control, you lose all control and you’re stuck in a body that’s walking and talking and doing things that you perhaps wouldn’t have done.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever walked in my sleep, but I know I’ve talked in my sleep. I still do sometimes, but I don’t dream enough or often enough to talk about it in my sleep. That’s basically what happens when a person sleep-talks – they say what they’re saying in their dream. I barely ever dream and if I dream I can barely ever remember what I dreamt. I did have a dream about two nights ago, though. (I didn’t sleep last night so how could I have dreamt?) Anyway, I couldn’t remember the whole dream but I remember that I dreamt that Trix said she liked my new painting, and I remember I dreamt something about Moonflower, but I can’t remember much else. I can barely ever remember details about my dreams. Apparently Vitamin-B12 helps one to remember one’s dreams more clearly. Isn’t it ironic that Vitamin-B12 is an ingredient in most energy drinks, specially formulated to keep you awake?
“Alice... Things are bad again...” Things are always bad lately. I need to watch that movie again! I remember the scene about Bella’s nightmares. The way she screamed and rolled into a little ball of flesh, trying to stop the pain that’s gnawing at her insides. It reminded me so much of Cat and her nightmares. She had nightmares too. Nightmares that were, to me, a lot like Bella’s nightmares were to Charlie. It scared ME to just watch Cat roll over and fold herself up in pain. It was (most of the times) nearly impossible to wake her. I’d have shaken her and tugged and pulled at her but most of the times she wouldn’t wake. Other times, I just had to very gently caress her wrists and she’d wake. (If I remember correctly...) Most of her nightmares were about her stepfather.
That guy still creeps me out.
Anyway, I’m a rambler. I ramble. I...am...rambling now!
Until next time.
Jaydy.
It was a conversation that I honestly didn’t expect. At first Hannah was very self-belittling because I needed him and he wasn’t there, he didn’t hear my message coming through. I immediately told him to stop it and that it was fine. 
We do behave ourselves but when we're together we just wanna connect. On his blog he said that he was in heaven the whole time we were in Harties and that I was his angel. He's becoming my new angel. 
