Papyra and Claire
Author's Notes
This is a journal of a girl I made up named Claire. It's a compilation of notebooks that I have written in a few months put together into a story. It's mostly about how I've been dealing with September Eleventh, life, and lesbian-dom. Writing has really been the only way that I can deal with all of this. Hope you enjoy it, and that it gives you some insight. :D
<<9*5*01>>
Last year, you wouldn't have caught me dead writing in one of these. I don't even know what is posessing me now. But things have vhanged. I've changed. A year can really do things to a person, especially the past one.
My teacher is making write in this dumb book as an assignment. Yeah, right. Like I'm going to write in this damn thing anyway. But class is boring right now, so I might as well write a few words.
Actually, my shrink says I should write in a notebook. Yep, I'm paying him who-knows-how-much so that I can write on a stupid book. But who am I to argue? he's the one with the PhD.
I must dub you a name. Something that has to do with paper, or music...
This is so silly, isn't it? I'm talking to you like your a person, just like Anne Frank and her diary, "Kitty." I read that book a few years ago, and found it quite stupid. But now I see how it can make you feel closer to a lifeless object like a blank book.
I know. I'mm call you Papyra. Has a cool kinda ring to it, don't it? Well, it's nice to meet you. I'm Claire.
Well, I must get back to school (blah). Bye.
--A Very Bored Claire.
<<9*6*01>>
Dear Papyra,
Okay, so this morning I tried to make some friends, cuz everyone in this school either doesn't know me or hates me (for some unknown reason). I went up to a few groups of people, but when I introduced myself, I got snubbed. Ick!
Eternally outcasted,
Claire.
<<9*7*01>>
Dear Papyra,
Yesterday I had a drum lesson. I LOVE my teacher. He is, like, the GOD of drums. It just feels so good to play, the primal rhythm becoming a part of you...It's really a spiritual experience. Making music is like a bearing of the soul. When one performs, they might as well be standing naked on the stage. Or maybe I'm just a cornball taking this too seriously.
Last might I had a really cool dream that I met Tori Amos. She's my fave musician. ^_^ Anyway, it was my birthday. For some reason it was freezing cold and I had an injured foot. I was with her and my family, and we were in this giant house that was all dark and creepy. We had a big fancy dinner, and then Tori, Kacey (my twin sister) and I snuggled under a giant blanket and watched anime videos. Pretty cool, huh?
Still daydreaming,
Claire.
<<9*10*01>>
Dear Papyra,
Blah blah blah. I can't think of anything to write. Blah. I just have to write SOMETHING so that I dun get into trouble. Can you believe this actually counts as a grade?!
Bored Beyond Belief,
Claire.
<<9*11*01>>
Dear Papyra,
I am REALLY confused. I was asleep in the cafeteria this morning, and then when I woke up, there were all these fires from plane crashes. What's going on? Are we in a war or something? Is it an accident (I doubt)? SOMEONE TELL ME! Teachers keep coming in here whispering to Mrs. O. I hate whispers. I hope she tells us. But then again, that might make it even harder to concentrate.
--A Very Scared And Confused Claire
<<9*12*01>>
Dear Papyra,
We're in a war. We're in a fucking war. Terrorists attacked the Twin Towers and the Pentagon. Suicide bombers crashed the planes. I know I'm not writing much today. I just feel kinda numb.
--Claire.
<<9*14*01>>
Dear Papyra,
things have been spilling, onto the floor
i would run, but i can't do that anymore
and i refuse to leave without a fight
fear consuming hyper thing
where do you find the joy to sing?
it's almost inconceivable
to think that once my life was breathable
the relief almost unbearable
as i chant my worthless parable
and then KERPLOOEY
i'm through
my life, hanging over you
my soul, begging for life fuel
begging to live, hello world so cruel
can't you tell me where the girls are?
i will tell you where the
pretty
little
girls are
they're in the watershed
drowning in all the time they bled
and i am cancer
i am HIV
you are the twin towers, falling on me
a plane crashed into our one safe place
and flushed all the joy out of my face
i am the hyper fear consumption
and when they day is done
and night is near
i will come and ask you
i will whisper in your ear
did you?
did you do?
did you do all that?
did you do all that you could?
I wrote this today. It was inspired by "Tamburitza Lingua," a song by Ani DiFranco.
--Claire.
<<9*17*01>>
Dear Papyra,
I turned 14 on Saturday. It was SO embarrassing. One of my mom's friends had a party for Kacey and me, and everyone drank themselves retarded. it was terrible. I wanted to call my dad to drive me home, but I was afraid of making my mother angry. Mike, my stepdad, drove like a freakin' idiot. It was really scary.
It was so weird. Kacey and I agree that it almost seemed a crime to celebrate after what happened. All we could talk about were the attacks, all the people we knew who had been effected by it, or people who died.
--A SomeWhat Older Claire.
<<9*18*01>>
NEW TORI CD!!!!!กกกกก!!!!! YAY-NESS!
--Claire.
<<9*19*01>>
School sucks, bored as hell, worried about the world. The FBI found leads on the attacks, but's it's still like looking for a needle in a haystack. At least Pearl Harbor it had a return address. Dad wants me to move down state with my grandparents out of the city, but I refuse. I doubt I will anyway. My parents have a talent for blowing hot air.
Sincerely,
Claire.
<<9*24*01>>
Dear Papyra,
This is so dumb. Why does Mrs. O want us to write in this stupid thing, anyway? Does she actually think that we're going to write something of some actual significance? It just seems so poitless. I mean, she doesn't even READ them. I could write the same sentence over and over, and she wouldn't notice. Journals are for seven-year-olds in pink little books with locks.
A Very Defiant Claire
<<10*2*01>>
Papyra--
I was just thinking about the death of John Lennon, for some crazy reason. I wonder what he would make of all tis chaos going on. I bet he could help a lot of people through his music. I just keep hearing "Imagine" over and over in my head.
Love,
Claire
<<10*3*01>>
Dear Papyra,
Have I ever told you about my girlfriend, Lina? Two girls. I know. It's terrible for evolution. But I can't help it anymore than people can help being hetero. Ms. O is Catholic, and if she reads this, she probably will go bizerk. I hope not. She seems like a reasonable person.
You know what pisses me off? Those idiots who say that God doesn't love me cuz I'm a "fag." It may not be God, but all I know is that there's a higher power out there, and it's crazy in love with me.
Sincerely,
Claire
<<10*4*01>>
Shit. What if Ms. O really *does* read these? Goddess, I can be so careless about what I write sometimes. I know i shouldn't have written that last entry. What if she becomes biased against me? Journals are so dumb. They always end up being read. But then again, on some subconcious level, do we want them to be?
I've been getting the worst nightmares. I keep seeing the WTC crash in replay, only in my dreams my brother is in the building. And then there's this other dream where this plane goes by and drops all this powdery stuff like snow and everyone drops dead.
My mom says that I'm being stupid, and I need to "keep things in perspective." She can be such a bitch. bleh. Gak-ness.
Sleepless Claire
<<10*5*01>>
Dear Papyra,
Lately I've felt so surreal, like I'm not really here. I keep having these random thoughts about different ways to kill myself. See, the thing about depression is that it never fully goes away. It's the same thing at the psycho ward: once you get in, you keep coming back. And there's nothing you can do about it, except act happy and pray that you get out in a week.
I mean, I've already been there four times. They say I need treatmet, but the truth is that that place makes you only more sad and angry, while the meds make you trip out or tired all the time.
Sorry. Everything going on right now seems to make me terribly morbid.
Sincerely,
Claire
<<10*9*02>>
I had a horrible nightmare last night. It wasn't about bin Laden or terrorism for once, although it was a different kind of terrorism. A few months ago, I was raped. I was not penitrated, but I was raped by every other definition of the word. The SOB that did it was 16, and a very close friend of mine. I dreamt that I was at home alone, taking a nap. He crept in some way, I guess I'd left the door open or something. And i relived the whole thing. Only in my dream I'm not fighting back. My eyes were all fuzzy, like he had some spell over me.
Well, my dad woke me up cuz I was screaming. Thank Goddess for him.
People think I should go to the police. But I know they won't do anything. He was still a minor. All they could do is give him a "talk." I feel like I've been crucified.
He tells everyone that I begged him for it, that I'm some kind of whore. That's one of the reasons (besides my mom) that I had to move to my dad's house. He called me 5-10 times a day, and people in my old school would call me with threats. None of them know where I live now.
IT WASN'T MY FAULT. Right?
Love,
Claire.