Jennifer, Veronica (everything, all of the time) October 14, 2009

[Actual passages out of my journal for the past year...I know, ridiculous, right? What would Jennifer do? Take a shot and move along. What would Veronica do? Take him for all that he's worth, and flick him away with a long, dark painted fingernail. But what does Molly do? Dwell...but I'd like to grow my fingernails long and sharp and scratch it all to hell, leaving my mark, not on some asshole's back, but on the entire world. I think Molly has yet to be determined...don't let the labels fool you, dear reader...)

10/12/08: It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Cutting myself is not enough — I want to slice myself wide open. I did what I had to do, and if there was a reason, it was you.

10/14/08: Did you see me walking by? Did it ever make you cry? What is he thinking? Does he miss me? Does he remember? Does he miss loving me? Does he remember that time at Six Arms?

10/15/08: You broke my heart. Please forgive me my trespasses, and I’ll forgive you yours.

10/18/08: You said you’d always love me. I started looking for excuses.

10/29/08: Why depression and why not me? Why sorrow and why not love?

11/1/08: What’s there to write about when the scars on my legs say it all. The pain rose to the surface, even if I was the one who had to help it out.

11/6/08: I love him so much. Alone is the last place I wanted to be.

11/11/08: Oh, it hurts. It still hurts. SO BAD. Why? Why? Why?

11./18/08: I want to forget him. But I can’t. Because forgetting him is forgetting me.

12/3/08: I loved him, and he broke my heart. All the hurtful, painful fucks aren’t going to fix this heartache. A thousand other fucks won’t erase the memory.

12/10/08: Trying without luck to forget the damage inflicted on me…and trying to ignore the damage I inflicted. But trying hardest of all to walk that line.

12/14/08: It’s your birthday. I miss you. I might still love you. Is there hope for us?

12/18/08: This hurts SO MUCH. Do you know how much this hurts, God? It hurts SO much.

12/26/08: Saw “Benjamin Button” today. And thought, he would like this movie. I hope he gets to see it.

12/28/08: Why didn’t it work? It needed to work. Why didn’t it work? I hate this. I hate this. It’s all a mess. But maybe it’s a mess I can fix.

12/29/08: I’m healing, and it’s hard. But healing takes time. Learning takes time.

1/2/09: I still love him. And I know he still loves me, or he wouldn’t try.

1/5/09: Unfinished. An unfinished life. An unfinished love. He called our love not unrequited, but unresolved. I said unresolved is the wrong word. Unfinished. And we paused. And his voice cracked.

1/6/09: Be here with me, keep me warm, keep me sane, love me as I love me, but more, differently. Keep me safe, and let me keep you safe.

1/9/09: Love is the most important part of life. Because why bother living without love? I don’t know what will happen. I don’t have the answers. But I have love and I have hope and I have honesty.

1/20/09: I love him tremendously, but I cannot lose myself again.

2/2/09: My beautiful boy is back. Molly, Dave loves you. So DON’T fuck up.

2/10/09: I love him. And I’m not scared at all. I trust him. I can give myself to him

3/12/09: Everything all of the time. How I hate you, Thom Yorke. How I hate you.

3/15/09: I miss you. I feel your absence like a phantom limb. Almost four years. Thank God I still have you.

6/3/09: My God. It’s been this long since I’ve written, spurred on by melancholia and the first random song on my sad  bastard shuffle: The Engine Driver. How apropos. His depression, even the slightest bit of it, affects me tremendously.

8/16/09: Here I am, expecting just a little bit too much from the wounded…difficult not to feel a little bit disappointed, passed over…but I look right on through, see you naked and oblivious. You don’t. See. Me. This song makes me come and cry. Eyes of a fallen angel, and a tragedy…oh well, oh well.

8/17/09: I feel so alone. How could you love me this way? I’m so fucking sick of dating a lie.

9/11/09: There are so many things to say to you. Namely, I still love you. I sleep in your shirt, using your pillows, wiping my tears over everything. Who do you love? If I were lucky, it’d be me. If I were the better person, I’d leave you alone. But I’m small and selfish and miss you and want all of your time.

9/23/09: Something is wrong. My head is splitting wide open. Is it some sort of existential crisis? (A work of art…a work of art…)

9/25/09: Keep me safe — even if you’re not here anymore. Because I wake up scared, wondering where I am, wanting to be safe.

10/5/09: Everything reminds me of him. Even this. Especially this.

10/6/09: Why would I want him if all he does, if all he remembers of me, all he thinks of me is that I’m trite and immature?

10/7/09: Neither one of us is either thing the other accused us of. We’re both heartbroken and petty.

10/13/09: I miss him. Every single day. I paid the price, I certainly did. I never held you in real life.

These are all passages from my “diary,” the very personal thing that I write the worst of the worst in, from a year ago, when he first began tearing my heart into pieces. You will read these items, and think, Molly, you did it to yourself, you did, and that’s what really hurts.
Sure, I’m a very stupid girl. I don’t, however, believe that I am either “trite” or “immature.” Immature people don’t overdraw their own checking accounts to send the love of their lives money so that he can eat. Trite people don’t actually post their own diaries for the world to read. I am many things, but “trite” and “immature” are not words to describe me.

In fact, even when I don’t feel like loaning things out, I do. Because why do I need money, movies, music, books and so forth, when my friends ask to borrow them? I would give any one of my friends the shirt off my back, I would give them my last four dollars, I would offer up, at the very least, my sofa to sleep on, and I would offer to make them dinner. Even the people that have screwed me over? I take them back, into my loving arms, and forgive them, and apologize for the trespasses I made against them.

But I still suck at a lot of things. Like, expressing my feelings in a cohesive way. Or having the patience to wait for someone to heal. Or having the knowledge to know that they’re not going to heal in my arms. I could’ve sacrificed myself, willingly, waiting for him to find stability. But I did once before. This time, I tried a different tactic. And the heartbreak exploded in my face. At least I know one thing for sure. No one will ever, EVER, love him like I did.
But I am worth loving. And I WILL find someone who knows that, and treats me appropriately. And maybe I won’t have to scratch at the walls, trying to figure out how to deal with someone whose wounds weep more than I ever thought mine could.

Think what you will of me. But I am sitting here, my journal sprawled on my bed, as I type in passages from the depths of my soul. I have been called a lot of things, but I am nothing if not honest and open, and willing to expose myself.

Because I know I’m not the only one. I’m probably not the only one who has ever loved you to the point of destruction, or maybe I am. But no one will ever love you as much as I loved you. I truly believe that in my heart. No one will ever love you as much as I loved you.

But maybe, my dear readers, you’ve felt the same way. Well, as you can see, in the past year, I’ve repeated patterns and ended up worse off than before. Read my story. Heed its lessons. Promise me that my heartbreak has not been in vain. Don’t follow my example. Do better than me. Teach me how to live. Just, whatever you do, don’t live like this.

Lest I forget…everything’s gonna be alright October 13, 2009

“And I don’t want to scatter your ashes
The floor is dirty enough as it is
And I don’t want to speak of you kindly
Besides, the phone is upstairs…”

Fuck, I love X. So much. I go through second favorite bands every few years, but somehow past Soundgarden and Morrissey, I think X is gonna stay. Sometimes I just wish I was Exene…or rather, that my heartbreak was over John Doe. Fuck, I threw John Doe under the bus for Voldemort. I almost didn’t invite him to the Knitters show so that I could flirt with John Doe, and instead I ended up in love with Voldemort. Again. Well, John Doe, I will never betray you again. Thank you for writing songs like “Big Blue House,” that take me a few years to figure out. Trite as that may be.

“Would you please stop wishing that you could stop wishing…”

 

 

[Also, "The World's a Mess; It's in my Kiss" is an amazing song. It's like a carnival ride...it's like beauty and excitement have gotten stuck in my throat and I have to jump on a carousel horse in order to make sense of anything. It's got organs and organs and it's like taking speed and staring at the sun and holding hands and twirling around with your head snapped back...so basically, it's just exactly like love. Messy and chaotic. And absurdly wonderful. At least, from what I remember.]

I’m not the only one (who loves you) September 18, 2009

I love it when you break my heart. You do it so often, I may as well get used to it, huh?

And you know what’s funny? My jealousy. It’s so abject and absurd. What do I care about those other girls? It certainly doesn’t matter anymore.

I erased my myspace, only to want to cut myself a little deeper by listening to the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard, song in part by one girl who was a vision of my jealousy. But it’s somehow comforting. And to distance myself from the real myspace, I borrowed the best alias a girl could – one deceased grandmother who practically has the same birthday and name as me. God bless you, grandma. Thank you for being a party to my demise. Maybe I’ll see you soon.

“I’m not the only one…that loves you…” she sings, a tiny death in my heart, partly because, well, it’s just a beautiful song, and she’s singing about “I don’t know who you’ve been, or who you’ve been with…” and so on and so forth…but a tiny death because…well, shit, because I can’t sing like this. Or can I?

I’m not the only one that loves you. Or am I?

My tears and years certainly don’t love you, rather, they hold things against you, like geography and promises and sketches of people we might have been.

Oh! How funny it is. How truly comical is my life. How incredibly ironic and entertaining and…so funny. SO ironic is my life. That I followed you back to my own insecurities just to be left in the dust once, and then, when I finally find a voice of my own, it is tempered by Jameson, your drink, it sits alone in the dark, smoking Parliaments, listening to this song, of all songs. I’d laugh, but it’s just too sad right now.

It’s funny, ain’t it, how a broken heart just simmers, until maybe all the blood just boils away, and I’m left with the memories of life lost.

Thanks, Margie Lee Davis, for giving me your name. At least, for tonight.

And you, the destroyer of me, well, I’ve got nothing left to say to you…for now.

Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story – Homer September 15, 2009

“Breathe (2 AM)” by Anna Nalick

2 AM and she calls me ’cause I’m still awake, “Can you help me unravel my latest mistake?, I don’t love him. Winter just wasn’t my season” Yeah we walk through the doors, so accusing their eyes Like they have any right at all to criticize, Hypocrites. You’re all here for the very same reason ‘Cause you can’t jump the track, we’re like cars on a cable And life’s like an hourglass, glued to the table No one can find the rewind button, girl. So cradle your head in your hands And breathe… just breathe, Oh breathe, just breathe May he turned 21 on the base at Fort Bliss “Just a day” he said down to the flask in his fist, “Ain’t been sober, since maybe October of last year.” Here in town you can tell he’s been down for a while, But, my God, it’s so beautiful when the boy smiles, Wanna hold him. Maybe I’ll just sing about it. Cause you can’t jump the track, we’re like cars on a cable, And life’s like an hourglass, glued to the table. No one can find the rewind button, boys, So cradle your head in your hands, And breathe… just breathe, Oh breathe, just breathe There’s a light at each end of this tunnel, You shout ’cause you’re just as far in as you’ll ever be out And these mistakes you’ve made, you’ll just make them again If you only try turning around. 2 AM and I’m still awake, writing a song If I get it all down on paper, it’s no longer inside of me, Threatening the life it belongs to And I feel like I’m naked in front of the crowd Cause these words are my diary, screaming out loud And I know that you’ll use them, however you want to But you can’t jump the track, we’re like cars on a cable, And life’s like an hourglass, glued to the table No one can find the rewind button now Sing it if you understand. and breathe, just breathe woah breathe, just breathe, Oh breathe, just breathe, Oh breathe, just breathe.