Went to bed angry, woke up angry. They say not to do either of those things. Whatever.
Am fairly convinced now that I probably have no friends here, except Dracor, who doesn't count because I've had sex with him. And as for the rest of them; they're likely just wasting their time with me so that in times of need, I'll be there with my 21+ ID. Or because they've got nothing better to do.
Because you see, when you have a friend, and that friend has just been thrown to the floor, in my experience, you're supposed to do something other than say "whoa!" and giggle. Like, for example, help her up. Or say, "Are you okay?"
Stumbled onto the journal site of this girl I really don't know. She goes here; we have some people in common. She mentions my name in one of her entries; she saw me at the 30-hour "Twin Peaks" marathon a couple of weeks ago and took an inventory of the room. After my name, she writes but one word: "Bah." What the fuck? I don't even KNOW this chick! I mean, I've NEVER spoken to her in my life. I do know that she sort of irks me when I hear her talking in the cafeteria, because she REALLY always sounds like a patronizing bitch, but we've never been introduced, we've never had any form of social intercourse. It REALLY bothers me that somebody I do NOT know has dismissed me like this without ANY knowledge of who the hell I am. Hell, she COULD be the nicest person in the world, for all I know -- and I DO know that she likes Tom Robbins a lot -- and since I've never spoken to her, ever, I'm not just going to put my first impression of her in such an unforgiving forum as an online journal. (My first impression of her is that she's a patronizing bitch... But at least I'm not so petty as to include her name here...)
Spent most of last night outside, reading a Newsweek and smoking cigarettes. Couldn't come back into my room, not with Louise's music playing. That's Binghamton music. Homesick? A little. But then, what is there to really miss about Binghamton? Is there anybody THERE who would, seeing me lying on the ground getting slammed around, help me up or back me up in any way? Well, yes, of course there's Norman. And other than Norman, I really don't suppose I HAVE any friends "back home." As a matter of fact, I guess I really don't have a "back home."
I ran into Brian the other night at the Modest Mouse show, and he introduced me to somebody as, "This is Helena, she's from New York..." I corrected him: "I'm from Olympia." I've got this history in Binghamton and all, but for the most part, everybody who's been an important part of my life there has vanished. My friends and I were like one of those Scot's Broom beans in Poulsbo last summer: they explode in the sun and the seeds inside go flying every which way. Really: everybody's gone. Really: I have no "back home." Really: you can never go home again. Fine. But I'd like to at least have a few buddies, pals, friends, lovers, whatever, so that being here doesn't feel so empty, so that I can smile and say, "hey, turn up the volume" if Louise plays Binghamton music, instead of feeling so damned mournful. Really, I just want to have a place here, and to know what the fuck it is. And to not have ANY reason in the world to believe that people here "care" about me for my twat or my ability to buy booze.
A fine breakfast this morning: raspberries and milk, bacon, and salmon with lemon-garlic sauce. Naught finer, although the woman behind the counter called me a "pig." I don't get it; I ask for four pieces of bacon instead of two, and I'm a "pig," even though Douglass eats like, seven plates of food nightly? I think the woman behind the counter doesn't know much English anyway. As I finished up, the boyfriend of the girl who dissed me in her journal came over to say hello to me. We talked about Philip Glass. We recounted our first times hearing "Einstein on the Beach." He said he was tripping at the time. I said that I'd FELT like I was tripping. I told him that Philip Glass is a funny-looking aging man who plays with ant-farms as his chief method of social interaction. A nice moment.
And speaking of Philip Glass...
I haven't mentioned this before, but Aaron and I have had a really, really huge fight.
The two of us had this secret game, which dates back to... probably 1998. The first version of the game involved going into AOL chat rooms and typing things like "SATAN!" and "KILL YOUR MOTHER, KILL YOUR FATHER! EAT 'EM!" Why? I don't fucken know. But we teamed up; us against the AOL-chat people. I think that was the only real use for the game; gave both of us a kind of solidarity that neither one of us could ever find anywhere else. The game evolved and the two of us started online flame-wars on dozens of bulletin boards, always teamed up: us against the enemy. Once, we shut down a whole ring of bulletin boards that were linked together. We really victimized some people. Why? I don't know. To release tension and to harmlessly release some of our collective frustrations with stupid people? But it was our little secret. We had our nicknames, and we had our pact: it was us versus them. The important part of that was the "us."
So, Aaron and I, having lost one of our most regular spaces to flame, had begun picking on this girl with a LiveJournal. She's really pretty fucked-up in the head, and a pretty easy target, but terribly self-righteous, and grossly popular, which made the game pretty damned funny. I never did anything really awful to her. Aaron really started giving her the what-for a couple of times, but I remained pretty polite. Until last week, when she started talking about having kids -- the chicklet is 16, and more screwed up in the head than ANY other 16-year-old I've ever had ANY contact with. So I typed, "Yo; you're too young, and too fucked-up to be having kids." Which is TRUE. Now, rather than seeing this and giggling, Aaron saw this and immediately informed the girl that I'd been the writer of this particular response.
What the hell? I thought it was us versus them? I thought we were a team? I thought that I could count on Aaron to back me up? It's not the fact that my anonymity was broken; if I had the chance, I'd say it to her face. But I needed a little time to work up to that point. It's not even that. It's just... I never imagined that Aaron, my co-conspirator, would break this sort of pact we've had going on for YEARS now. He turned me in! He sold me out! He played vigilante on the person he calls his best friend!
I called him on it. He got nasty. He got defensive. He said, nonsensically, something to the effect of: "oh yeah, well, at least I'm not fucking a bunch of people who don't give me the time of day."
It's not enough that he broke up our team; then he had to remind me of THAT, too? That of the past three people I've slept with, I'm on decent speaking terms with one of them? And that last one will rarely acknowledge me in public lest the cute girl down the hall get a whiff of what's been going on, which would ruin his chances? Aaron knows these things because they've really hurt me, because I trusted him, because I've almost always been able to discuss hurt and heartache with him... I suppose I trusted erroneously, because he used these things against me. Fine, Aaron: throw it back in my face that I'm essentially useless to a couple of people I've really, really cared about. Yeah, I can take it.
Supposing the jackass from down the hall was pushing me around and Aaron was around, I wonder if he'd do anything, say anything? I think I have a better understanding of Aaron than I did before... Obviously, I greatly overestimated his loyalty. I think Aaron would be just another one of those "good friends" who would have been standing by and laughing last night. We haven't spoken in probably a week. I'm not really sure I want to bother anymore. My trust in other people is really low enough as it is. Aaron, after such a damned long time, has, in his own way, broken my heart by breaking our little union.
When it got too cold outside last night, I spent a bit of time in the lounge with Dracor. He put an arm around me, and I told him about T.C. trying to kick my ass, and about everybody laughing, and about the R.A. telling wimpy little ME to back off, but thinking that T.C., twenty pounds and lots of muscles bigger than me, was cute and funny. I told Dracor that I wasn't really sure I had anybody here who gave a shit about me. I told Dracor I was lonely. I told him I didn't really have a home, either in Binghamton OR here. I told him I was hurting.
WHY would I tell Dracor this? Why should it matter to him? Dracor doesn't even respect me enough not to desperately hide our little affair-type-thing from the cute girl down the hall. He made damn sure I knew when his girlfriend would be visiting and implied quite strongly that he didn't want me around while she was here. Dracor: one of my best (and only) friends here, but he really only bothers with me when nobody else is around -- or, in the beginning, when he bragged to all his buddies that he'd gotten laid the night before... Why would I tell Dracor all of this shit? I don't know. Desperation? Because there's just nobody else?
And of course, he swore his undying allegiance to our friendship, because that's what you do when somebody's upset. He said -- and I quote: "I do not abandon my friends."
I said: "I've heard THAT said before." And I have. I have a cherished letter at the side of my bed, as precious to me as David's crummy old Java Joe's t'shirt or the tapes of Norman's music, that reads: "No matter how it seems now, I will not abandon my family." He told me we were "family," because I'd once given him money for cigarettes and a can of spaghettio's. But the boy who wrote that to me, who swore his loyalty to me forever and promised to protect me if ever I needed it... I'll never see him again. And soon enough, Dracor will just be one of the many who swore to be my friend for life, when I'm not entirely certain he's my friend NOW, who's disappeared into the abyss. Trust him? Hell no. How can I? Then again, I don't have much of an option. It's him or no one right now.
Dracor sat there and pretended he understood exactly what I was talking about, and I pretended to feel better. Then he brought me some Tylenols for my neck, which I must have injured pretty badly last night during one of my two falls. Then he kissed me -- rather unexpectedly, I confess -- and was off to his room with his new girlfriend.
My R.A. said hi to me in the hallway this morning. I didn't even look at him. I'm so angry it's crippling. I HATE, I really do. I haven't felt this much hatred in a very, very long time. I hate all these good people, these good people who are SUCH good friends that they let an asshole try to kick the shit out of me last night. I hate my good friends who laughed at me last night. I hate my good friend who comforted me last night because down deep, I suspect he only feigns concern to serve his own motivations. I hate my good R.A., a self-described "Alpha-Male," who grinned as the weakest member of his "pack" got herself slammed around by his card-playing buddy. I just feel SO much hatred, and I have no way to let it out. I want to punch shit, and I want to rip shit up. But last time I punched something, I put a hairline fracture in my hand, and ripping shit up just isn't satisfying enough.
I hurt like HELL. I don't know how I'm going to relax and concentrate on finishing the last of my homework for the quarter.
But I do know one thing: come Monday morning, I'm going to the Women's Center on campus, and I'm begging whomever is there to give me all their brochures on self-defense classes for women. I'm small, dammit, but I will NOT get beat up by these stupid men anymore. I WON'T. I've been fondled, kicked, thrown on the floor, slapped, hit, and put into an unbreakable choke-hold (that was all in good fun, but he wouldn't let go until WELL after I'd signalled that I couldn't breathe anymore), and I'm not going to fucking take it anymore. They may be 18-year-old boys, full of testosterone, but I am a woman, and I am full of hatred, and I deserve better, dammit.
I really have to do my homework.
I wish something really, really good could happen so that I could stop shaking. My neck hurts so much...
~H.T.*