scarily ready to be alone

April, 1995

At least I’ve stopped bursting into tears about it, at least I’m getting to feel more angry and righteous and strong and in charge of things. My stomach still hurts, and I still feel pretty dreadful, but I’m better, much more removed, and very grateful.

Now I have to figure out what to do if it’s really over.

How ridiculous to wonder, maybe we do this to prove we want it, to make ourselves miss each other.

Do I want it to be over. Does he.

God if that’s the way we make each other feel then it’s no good, how can we try again, we are what we are. You hurt my feelings and I piss you off. Is there any good.

I always loved the sex but somehow it got ruined – not even the act but the act surrounding the act. I was getting it once, twice a week for a while, I guess I could learn to deal with that but secretly I think I’d always want more and resent him (p.s. – you’re him now, that’s how little you matter).

I feel much calmer now, and scarily ready to be alone. I never want to have to beg and plead for him to stay with me.

I adored you. I hope you didn’t fuck [girl poet]. Why do you have to think about those other girls when you jerk off? I feel so jealous and possessive.

I wish he would come crawling but he won’t. The only thing that will make me happy is if he crawls and pleads and promises to change.

Well, how ya like me now. It’s Wednesday, the cusp of Thursday really, and this is just getting easier and easier for me.

Can you imagine the luck – running into him on the train last night, seeing him get out of the cab on Flatbush tonight? It just makes me stronger when I reject you.

I’m actually feeling much calmer and more fine. Last night coming home from the train I had some trouble breathing, I was really feeling punched in the gut but you know I had work to do, and I didn’t even cry last night, I didn’t even need the fabulous and remarkable red book of rage pain and hate.

I’m getting ready to be alone if I have to. Not even because I have to, because I want to. Amazing how productive I am without him. Amazing how he called three times just now, just like I had wanted, and I don’t even want it. See how he likes being shut out, hurt and ignored.

I am really okay. I didn’t cry last night and I’m not crying now. You can’t hurt me anymore because I’ve ceased to care.

I’m going to fill up this whole book and then I won’t even think about it anymore. I’ll get it all out, I’ll think about it so much it bores me, and then I’ll be done with it.

I have to admit, I enjoyed the messages. I like hearing you ask me now, just like I was asking you, and you threw me out. You insulted me, you threw me out, and you bashed your head into walls rather than talk to me and hear me out, because you had to be exactly on time for your party.

Ain’t got no party to go to tonight, do you.

You don’t make me feel secure, loved, or happy. I always gave you little presents and rubdowns and listened to your fucking midnight angst.

I miss you. I miss the way you were the night of my 1 woman show. You were supportive and helpful and loving, right afterwards when you came backstage, it meant a lot to me. I’ll get rid of the few good memories so they lose their power.

What will I miss? Holding you was hardly the comfort I’d hoped, I always felt like it was a desperate cling that you resented. How could I even relax, feeling so judged all the time.

You wish I had “more going on in my life.” I have plenty going on. I am a very going-on type of gal, and if you didn’t appreciate it before boy will you starting soon, because I am taking it to the top. I’m going to pay all of that attention I used to pay you and I’m going to pay it to myself and my writing.

I’ll be without a lover for as long as it takes to find the right person. I know that you can’t be him, as much as you might want to be, and you don’t even. You don’t.

(To read the girl bomb diaries in chronological order, click here.)