Of heartaches, heartache substitutes and rebel systems.
Thursday, 01/30/03 - 9:17 pm.

Last night, it was too much. So I started a diary. Hand-written. It was too much. I couldn't stand it.

All because I couldn't help looking at his graduation picture, in the lame yearbook (it's really, really lame). He wrote a lot of things, and the quote he finishes off with is: "the greatest thing you'll ever learn is to love and be loved in return".

(you'll have to excuse the lack of HTML. I got a new keyboard and I've lost some keys...actually -how neat- just the ones that contain the HTML things)

"I love you", I whispered. "I still love you, I'm still in love with you, I love you so much". He looks so beautiful in the prom picture. "I can't believe I lost you. I can't believe you let me go...you obviously haven't learned to love and be loved in return".

(For the record, my yearbook quote is Aerosmith's Full Circle's "love is love reflected"...but I don't believe in it...I've never proved it, and since he left me, I'm sure that's not true).

I cried for an hour and something. I was scared my parents would listen to me. But they didn't, it was midnight. I cried, and put on "Misery" (Pink and Mr. Tyler)..."since you've been gone, I ain't been sane, I carry a weight like an old ball and chain...". Gosh, I must've looked like a drunk, heartbroken old lady at a bar. I was just missing the beer. I was sobbing, crying..."one more heartache for me...".

I know he won't be back. I lie to myself, just to feel a bit of hope so I can go through the day. Yet I just wait. For nothing in particular. I just don't want anyone else. I don't want another chance for love, I've had enough. He was the one. He's gone, yes. But there hasn't been anyone on earth that I've loved like I loved him. I'd never said "oh, that's my favorite person" until he was in my life. He was my favorite person. But now I just try to bury the good times I had with him. I only want to remember the bad ones (when he'd walk away without saying goodbye, when he started to ignore me, when he was flirting -very sexually- with other girls...) and...I don't know. Find an answer.

Then I decided I'd had enough crying. So I cut. I traded a heartache for some wounds. It wouldn't bleed at first, and I kept pushing and pressing, begging my skin to bleed: "please, come out...please, make me forget about him, please, hurt like a bitch and make me forget about my heartache, I can't stand it anymore!!!".

I went to bed after writing down the entire thing, looking at myself in the mirror ("he's so beautiful...did he ever thought that about me?"), feeling like a waste (strangely enough, I thought I looked pretty), rubbing my eyes and cleaning up my skin. I think I slept well.


This morning my period arrived. I felt very bad, and rolled over my sheets for several hours, in awful pain.

My mom came from work at noon, and I told her. I got a call from Adri but in the middle of it I ran to the bathroom and threw up. My mom said to Adri that I was sick, I'd call later. I threw up so much ("where the fuck does all this come from?!"), I was in tears.

I stormed into my bedroom afterwards, ashamed and pissed off. "I hate you, motherfucker, I hate you". I hated my body. I hated the goddamn period, what kind of shit is that, anyway? I'm not fuckin' having kids, it's enough with this monthly issue. I wanted to hit myself, I was so pissed at my body for doing such stupid shit.

My mom said it is not normal. When I get my period, my back and thighs, as well as the womb, hurt terribly. And sometimes I throw up. I throw up when the period arrives in the morning.

My mom talked about taking me to a gynecologist. No damn way in fuckin' hell. I don't want anyone's head between my legs. I told her it's pretty normal. "No, it isn't", she said. "It is for me", I replied.

Alan (my brother, doctor...he was on TV and on the newspapers a couple of days ago, talking about the doctors' strike *tear*) said that it is indeed normal. "Throwing up is new to me, but the rest is pretty normal". HA! There you go, mom. She's the weird one. My family always talks about her strange calm during delivery. She never screamed nor cursed nor showed any sign of pain when she was giving birth. She only cried her ass off when she'd see her child for the first time, saying how beatiful he/she was. My mom says the deliveries on TV are exaggerations.

I really don't want to find out.

"Were you jealous of someone when you were a little girl?", my UCA classmate and friend Angie asked me today. "I think I was jealous of everybody...I had inferiority complex or something...", I said. Victoria said: "yeah, I remember. You were weird...always lonely and stuff..."

I felt awkward when she said that, but also kind of glad to prove that at least I have a memory that sticks to the facts.

So I was weird....

I remember my childhood trauma. I loved junk food (I still do, but now I moderate myself) and I'd stuff myself. At midnight, I'd be crying in the bathroom, throwing up, with my poor mom holding my forehead. I hate that feeling, and I think it left a deep mark in me. Stupid me, eating too much. I hate thowing up. I wouldn't stand having an eating disorder. So it pisses me off when I throw up. It pisses me off, "WHAT'S YOUR FUCKIN' PROBLEM WITH ME?!?!?!", I yell at my own system.

I suppose my skin would love to yell the same at me.

But since I was really, really pissed off at my system, I forced myself to go to the UCA. I went, I was feeling better anyway. "How dare you tell me what to do, bastard?", I said to my body. So I took a nap, had hot coffee and milk and off I went to the UCA.

Hi, bye.

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