31 March 1999 ~ Java Negativity...

Allow me, for a moment, to quote a book my brother sent me in the mail the other day:
"FUCKEY FUCK FUCK..."

That was "Haïr," for anyone who didn't know. My sweet little bro found an ancient copy of the original book and sent it to me for Easter.

Java's is closed. It isn't a rumor. Erich came by the post office today, acting rather snippy as usual. I was wearing a shirt I stole from his closet, so I can't blame him for being a jerk. Anyway, I didn't care how nasty he was being, I had to know. "Wait!" I yelped, "I have to ask you something!"
"What?" he asked, totally bitchy.
We never talk anymore. He passes me like I don't exist. Suzanne talks to me like she's trying to figure out if I'm really as evil as everyone now thinks I am. Me, I just ignore him back. But now we were talking, and I was obligated to reply. My tongue froze. My mind froze. I was totally on-the-spot.
"Do you still have your Leonard Cohen tape?" I asked.
"I have most of his stuff on CD now - if you want, I'll make you a mix-tape." He was still being a real prick - his voice was very cold (I think I just quoted Cohen's "Story of Isaac," but I haven't heard it in ages, so I'm not sure...). He started to walk away.
"WAIT!"
"What?"
"Is it true? About Java's?"
"The one in Binghamton is closed, and Don's selling the ones in Santa Fe... Meg wants you to call her, by the way."

And he was gone. I could tell by his voice that he didn't give a shit one way or the other about my Java's. To him, it's just a job. To him, it's just money. To him, it's just the honor of taking home the day-old bagels at closing time. Well, fuck him! No, don't fuck him - he doesn't know what he's doing anyway. Suffice to say my hands were trembling with rage as he stomped off in those stupid ugly boots of his. How dare anyone let Java Joe's close without beating their fists against the walls like I want to be doing right now?

I'm pretty sure I wrote a suicide letter to Peter last night. I remember this swamp of depression coming over me last night, and I remember crying myself to sleep. I also remember choosing one of my home-made cards and writing in teeny-tiny letters some letter that was awful enough so that I felt I had to seal it right away or I wouldn't send it. And it was important that I send it, at least it seemed important at the time. I wanted to die. I wanted to take five thousand pills and not worry about the rest of my life, which seems to be slowly disappearing anyway. I wanted to jump off a bridge. I wanted to run away - the only thing is, I don't know where I'd go...

I feel very desperate, very panicky, very on-edge. If I was in New York right now, everyone would be totally frustrated with me. I want to call up Peter and demand to know why he's got to completely cut me out of his life by moving away. I want to call up David and demand to know why he hasn't answered my last letter. I want to call up Ken and just hang up on him. I want to write Jeff and Tommy and tell them I'm sick of them fucking with my head by telling me how much they care about me. I want to call my mother and scream at her for changing her answering machine message so that it's unrecognizable. Most of all, I want to call whoever the hell is in charge of MY COFFEEHOUSE, and demand to know HOW DARE THEY CLOSE???

I really kinda feel like everything and everyone is against me right now. I'm crying again - I haven't stopped crying inside since yesterday, and every time I'm alone in my room, I can't stop the tears. This is so fucked up - I didn't even cry when my parents told me they were splitting up. I didn't NEED to cry - it didn't make that big of an impact, because at least I knew I still had a place to go - two places, actually - and I knew they still cared.

["Where do I go? Follow the children... Where do I go? Follow my hand... Where will they lead me, and will I ever discover why I live and die...?"]

I went to Java's here in Santa Fe yesterday for a little while, just to taste the tea and meditate a little bit while staring into my cup... There was almost no one else in the store though, and the chick behind the counter kept staring at me. So I opened up my old paper journal, scrawled a quick incoherent entry, and began reading past entries... I found one in particular that made me sad... It was one I wrote while sorta-living at Ken's place. I wrote it on the back porch in the middle of the night, while feeling that horrible "please-just-let-me-die" feeling. I'm going to retype it here because, even though it was a different time and completely different circumstances, it was the same feeling. But then, there was Java's to go to in the morning, which is exactly what I did.

This doesn't really have a LOT to do with the here and now, but I don't want to talk about the here and now. Let me talk about some pain that's over and done with, just to prove to myself that I can kick its ass. Just to prove to myself that I didn't die then, and I don't have to die now. Just to prove that I've become a better person, that I have a little more going for me, that I'm not REALLY going nowhere... I hope...

Here it is:

August 15 1998

Dear Diane,
I'm at Ken's with him and Jeff. So much drama has gone on in the past few weeks I'm not going to even TRY explaining it all. At the moment, I'm drinking red Goat Stuff and waiting for some Jello shots to set. We're listening to show tunes ("Who will love me as I am," which Jeff and Ken are making fun of...), and it's depressing me. Actually everything is depressing me a ---

LATER THAT NIGHT...

Dear Diane,
I don't know what I'm looking for anymore. Not at all. What do I want? A boyfriend? Shit, Diane, I hated being with Greg, and Erich wasn't much better. I want someone to not treat me like Secondbest. Erich wouldn't know the difference between love and a fuck if someone beat him over the head with the dictionary definitions.

You know what, Diane? I do know what I want. I want to go down to Lost Dog, and I want to sit at the counter and cry and I want David to come over and just smile at me and make it all go away. I want to go to Java's and have Meg bitch at me about some trivial little thing, which always cheers me up. I want some mother-fucken coffee - is that okay? I'm tired of all this negativity - I just want to have some coffee and caffeinate it all away.

I want a friend - not a friend who leaves me alone and crying in a bar while he tries to pick up some random stripper he's never seen in his life. Not a friend who is too drunk to notice me crying myself to sleep with my arms around him. Not friends who invite me over, get me drunk, and leave me in the living room with a stack of dumb porno magazines while they go into the bedroom and fuck. Loudly. While fucken "Pure Moods" is playing -- I'm sorry, but somehow, it's sacrilegious to hear fucking sounds over the sound of "Falling," you know what I'm sayin'? I don't want friends who are drama queens or alcoholics. Not friends who talk behind my back and lie to protect themselves ["I'm outta this! I have nothing to do with anything. I'm completely outta this."]. I just want a friend who is capable of putting everything else aside for a few minutes and JUST CARING about ME.

Sam was insulting David the other night and I wanted to rip his head off. David is the only one in the world whose shoulders are big enough for me to cry on and feel better. So maybe he's not perfect, and maybe there are rumors going around town that he's not great in bed or whatever - I wouldn't know - but those aren't reasons to just trash someone who knows how to love without condition -- or, without a LOT of conditions...

The more I fill my life with drama, the emptier I become. I find I'm scared to be alone at all. Why? Because there's nothing left of Helena? I'm just this superficial little bitch who lives in, for, and around gossip 24 hours a day. It's easy to know who's fucking whom, and repeat it, and speculate about emotional attachments, but then what am I reduced to? Superficial little drama bitch who isn't worth any more than the gossip she hears and occasionally repeats. It's no fucking wonder nobody loves me.

Diane, I know I sound whiney, but I mean this from the bottom of my soul.

I hate being a girl and everything feminine about myself. I feel ugly and I feel unattractive. Ugly meaning hideous-looking and unattractive meaning unable to attract anybody with any particular virtues. I'm too wrapped up in Peter to have much of a personality anymore. I'm not funny or charming. I don't know how to be social, at least not the way Ken does - everybody loves Ken. I don't have any special talents. I'm so tired of needing a hug and watching everybody back away from me. Is it because I'm ugly? Is it because I'm a girl? Is it because I now have this evil reputation as this weird chick who tries to seduce any man who might be gay? HELLO! I'm NOT! I wanted to be loved, and now I'm here, and I'm just a tiny bit drunk from earlier this evening, and I've turned into everything that made David want to leave town in the first place. Oh well, now I know. And now I have this weird reputation. Diane, I'll have you know that Jeff came on to ME, and with both David and Peter, it was just one of those things that kinda HAD to happen... But here I am, with my weird reputation, sitting on Ken's porch because the floor just isn't fucking comfortable enough to go to sleep on tonight. Ally is sleeping on the couch, the stupid whore, and I think someone is sleeping in the Pussy Room, too - so I get the floor -- Secondbest. I'm here, on the porch, thinking about what I want. I just want somneone to LOVE me. Just love me. I don't know where to find that. I don't know where to look. Apparently, not here.

How could anyone love me at this point anyway? Look what I've turned into? A stupid piece of white trash who drinks and smokes and just isn't really "jiggy wid it" and who is - GAHD ALONE KNOWS WHY - still madly in love with Peter.

Sometimes - like now - I think he just loves me when it's convenient. The rest of the time, I'm in the way of his quest for unconditional love. Oh, pardon me, I meant unconditional love from something with a cock. (Ahem, the stripper boy the other night didn't appear to have a hell of a lot behind his towel, but I guess it's better than, you know, something as gross as caring about a girl...) So why do I still love him? Part of it is familiarity. Looking into his eyes and seeing something beautiful that I THOUGHT we had. Looking into his eyes and seeing something that is almost "in love," but which is really more like, "Secondbest." But it's the familiarity if someone who has touched me and loved me in every way possible. And the other reason I put up with his shit and can still honestly say I love him? Because at least I know I'm worth a broken heart.

David would kill me if he could see me now.

I'm going to go see him tomorrow. I don't know what I'll say. But I know he's been here, I know he's felt this way, I know he's gotten just as drunk as I was this evening, and for many of the same reasons. I was there - I watched - I knew. And now, I know because I'm there. I just want some coffee, goddammit.

I have to go to bed now. I've just had all of this on my mind for way too long, and I needed to let some of it out. I haven't written a real entry in forever, it looks like - I've been too drunk or too hungover or crying too hard to see the pages. Or with Ken, who's just dying to read all of this. With a little more alcohol in me tonight, all of this would have come blurting out in an incoherent rush, and I sure as hell don't need that. Enough people hate me for no reason. I don't need people hating me because of all my stupid self-pity.

God, if you hear me, if you exist, and if you haven't given up on me, please bless David for being REAL and honest and wonderful. And bless Jeff and Ken for caring once in awhile. Bless Jayden for being everything I want to be, and never succumbing to all this shit. And bless Peter because he needs it.

Diane, I can't go on like this...

Love Always,
~Me*

The next day, I went to get some coffee. It was damn good coffee. I got a Java to-go cup and brought it to the Courthouse where I sat on the lawn and read "Carrie" or something.

I'm sorry - that entry didn't help. I thought it would bring me a little hope just to type it out and remember it all. Just to make myself realize how stupid and neurotic I'm being. I realized it yesterday. But yesterday, I guess there was a little bit of hope that my coffeehouse was still there for me. Now, I don't know if there's any hope for anything.

Still signing with a star, but not really knowing why...
~Helena*

"You're lucky - you're leaving."
"No I'm not - I don't want to go. I want to stay here with my friends and everything."
"Face it - in ten years, you won't care about any of this anymore. Of the people you know, how many of them will really matter in ten years? Maybe me. Maybe Peter. Who else?"
"I don't know. I love Java's..."
"Why? It's not the same as it used to be. There's a lot of Java Negativity there. Besides, there's a Java's in Santa Fe. Two of them. It's just a place, Helena, and places come and go. Everything comes and goes."
"You told me it would never really end..."
"Would it?"
"Yeah, that's what you said."
"Maybe some things can end. At least you can try. You're lucky."
--a conversation I just miraculously recalled from February 15, 1998 between David and me, after drinking two of his boyfriend's "Special Lattés."

Maybe I'm the one who's changed - maybe I'm the one who's the Java Negativity.