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Saturday, July 8th, 2006
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10:21 pm - read this. he is the only person i love.
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my name is krista. i'm 18 years old. i am an adult now. and i don't like adulthood. i am five foot seven. and 69 pounds. i am barely alive. my parents are split up. they will not let me live with either of them. i "am an adult now, and we are sick of your shit. get out." so, i am living in an appartment with a boy i don't know. i sleep with him every night. i hate myself. i am not addicted to cocaine, but i use it every day. i could stop at any time. i have the will power. i just never wanted too. when i do not have money for cocaine, i will fuck whoever i have to to get it. i am in my senior year of high school. many of my old friends do not acknowledge me anymore. many of my new friends are in college. they use me for sex or drugs. i get passed around frat parties like a bowl of laced weed. i am not ashamed. and i rarely use protection. i am not diseased. or pregnant. i am lucky. so is the baby i don't have. i will be a horrible mother. i do not eat. i used to. i used to be healthy. i thought i was unhappy. i thought "if only i can loose five pounds, i will be happy." i used to be one hundred and 30 pounds. i have lost approximitley fifty1 pounds. i used to be innocent. i started to stop eating. i would fast for three days. i told myself i did this just to test myself. i began to drop weight. i fasted for a week. i liked the feeling of the pit in my stomach. i fasted for two weeks. i lost weight. i felt weak. i felt dizzy when i stood. i saw spots. i loved that. i found people to protect me. to use and abuse and confuse me. i like feeling used. i like feeling under appreciated. i crave that feeling. i met the boy i now sleep with every night at a party. he asked me do you like the party? i answered no. he asked me do you want to start liking it a lot more? yes. he gave me cocaine. everything became brighter. warmer. more amazing. the empty hole in my stomach dissapeared. i did not sleep that night. or the night after that. when you don't eat, cocaine has a profound affect on the body. i found him two days later. he gave me cocaine. i gave him money. this went on for weeks. my parents began to notice that i did not sleep. they began to notice that i did not eat. it took them long enough. they began to notice how my nose would bleed. and how i would shake. and how i would sweat. they found cocaine. i tried to hide it. they tried harder to find it. they informed me that i needed help. i told them i knew that, and that i did not give a fuck. they told me that when i turn eightteen, i will have to find a different place to live. or, i could begin to eat again. stop using. be happy. be healthy. at midnight on my birthday, i packed up some clothes. i took all the money i had. and all the money they had. i left. i went to the appartment of the boy i now sleep with every night. i informed him of my situation. he did not hug me. or console me. he did not bake me a birthday cake. instead he gave me cocaine. and now here i am. it is not an appartment. it is a warehouse. we are squatting. my life is a waste. i am a collection of bones covered in a wax paper layer of skin. guidence counselors try to help me. school nurses try to help me. used to be favorite teachers cry at me, tears streaming down their faces, telling me you could have been the next shakespear, keroac, caldor, picasso, einstein. i tell them that's not true. it's just not true. then i leave the school building. if it wasn't for the fact that not sleeping gives you many hours to study, i would have been kicked out. but i have a 4.0 gpa. i went to as many classes as needed to get credit. i got a 1560 on the sat. out of 1600. i can get into almost any college of my choice with a score like that. i got my ged, but i did not attend my graduation. i wasn't friends with anyone anymore. i would have upset the parents trying to celebrate my classmates sucess. i will graduate college. i have scholarships. if i don't die first. i will not die. if i am five foot ten and 5 pounds, i will not die. i will not do that to the remaining friends i have left. i will not do that to my parents. i won't take the burden of myself from their shoulders. i will not leave the people who care about me, alone, sobbing, crying, actually feeling for the first time in months.
my friend neal just died. he didn't pass away. he fucking died. he was the one person in my life i actually cared about. he was the one person who actually cared about me. neal was 9teen. he was the only person who treated me the same as he did when i was one hundred and thirty pounds. he did not comment on my weight then. and he did not comment on it now. he would never shove manuals about recovery down my throat. he would never force me to eat. he never had to. i ate for him. not because he asked me to. or expected me to. or wanted me to. but because he loved me. and i loved neal. we never slept together. neal was not attracted to me. he loved me. i would often fall asleep in his arms. he would often drive me home. he would listen to me cry on the phone. he would console me. he would feed me promises we both knew were empty. it'll be ok. ok. ok. we both knew it wouldn't be ok. neal did drugs. more drugs than me. he would do them all at the same time. neal was tall. and thin. and when he smiled. it made me hurt. every thing of my being would hurt when he smiled. it was that kind of smile. we would cit in a sity park. we would read. we would talk. we would make up stories of the people walking by. we would laugh. i only laughed with neal. i will only ever laugh with neal. he is the most beautiful person i have ever known. i want my children to be like neal. if they are anything like neal i will be happy. if when i grow up, i am anything even close to neal, i will be happy. i can never be neal. neal was everything. he wanted there to be beauty in everything. he did not want world peace, but he wanted there to be beauty in everything. he did not want world peace, but he wanted beauty in everything. he did not want world peace, but he wanted beauty in everything. he wanted it more than anything. he would stay inside for hours. days. weeks. untill he finished a painting. drawing. sketch. of anything. anyone. he was going to make the world beautiful. he made the world beautiful. he painted my potrait in blacks and blues. just black on blue on black on blue. at my mouth there is a yello smile. he told me that was because inside i was happy. i might not always feel happy, but i am. he said that he knew that. he said that at some point in my life, i will find that supreem, pure happiness again. that was what neal wanted. supreem, pure, happiness. he was excellent at making empty promises.
neal found out he had aids two years ago. he never told anyone. he had no money for the drugs he needed. we all only have money for the drugs we want. drugs. drugs. drugs. his mother forced him to leave when he was sixteen because he told her he was gay. he moved to the city. he sold drugs. he never sold drugs to me. i never bought drugs from neal. we never did drugs when we were together. we were never high when we were together. we were each other's drug. he was the only person i wanted to get better for. he was the only person i love. and he is the only persond who loved me.
neal killed himself june 20first. he would not let himself die from aids. old, unloved gay man. thin, emaciated gay man. hurting, crying gay man. he told me that he would die young. handsome. at his own hands. doing what he loved. the last picture he painted is of him. he painted over childhood pictures of himself, hideous, dorky, pimple faced middle school yearbook photos. school newspaper article about him. the last letter his mother wrote him. these small things are the background. over them, he painted us. citting in the sity park. we are two dark figures. it is snowing. we are laughing. we both have golden smiles. he wrote me a twenty page letter. i have not read it yet. it hurts. in a different way than his smile, but it hurts none the less. i just trace over the pages with my hands. memorize his writing. his signature. the way he dotted his eyes. and crossed his teas. he drank a bottle of turpentine. mixed pills. he fell asleep on the wet canvas. there is an outline of the side of his face, and the back of his hand. fingers are long and lean. knuckles are scraped. surrounding us in the park.
neal is an amazing person. i love him. cherish him. miss him every day. i am going to get better for him. i am going to live for him. i am going to find beauty in everything. everything. everything.
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