I already hate you and I don’t even love you yet

Sunday, October 1, 1995,
9pm, Greenpoint Ave. G train station

“I believe in the moon,” she told me.

“Of course you believe in the moon,” I told her. “The moon is real, it exists.” It annoyed me so much.

“I believe in the goddess,” she told me, and I said, “Yeah, I’m right here.”

But the more I agreed, the more she denied, pushing me outside her tide. You’re so cold and light and hard to catch. I left the man I was supposed to marry.

I believe I am the moon. I believe I am the same stuff as the moon is. I believe I can get in a rocket and get to me. I believe you’re fucking corny and cheap. It’s cheap. It’s too cheap for your two degrees. You know better than the moon.

I believe in cycles. I’m sad. I’m putting you to bed now. I was so crazy for her.

We were arguing on the corner of 13th and A because she wouldn’t let me in, not even to talk. We were facing each other and both hanging onto the fence with one hand, her knuckles tight in the wire. I’m the one who believed in the moon. I knew the moon. That was the kind of helium I had in my lungs those days. Every breath an icicle in my chest, and sweet as the inside of a balloon.

*

If it’s not just page after page of brilliant insight, fuck it. I’m trying. I’m trying not to feel mad. I’m trying not to cry, but why try not to feel mad, then wind up feeling bewildered and freaked out. Feel mad. I am mad. This pisses me off. I want to be alone in my house and I’m stuck fucking here waiting for the fucking G train to drag me from fucking Greenpoint, you asshole.

I already hate you and I don’t even love you yet.

I can feel in my body that I’m overreacting. Fuck it. I’m tired and I want to go home. I wanted to go home before. I should’ve said it. In so many ways I’m still afraid to talk to him.

Where’s my fucking train? I’m really broiled now. I’m not going to get home until after 10:00 and only after a long ass walk, and I’m pissed. I wish there was some way to catch a cab in this bitch. Ah, here’s my train.

Boy, in some ways it feels good to feel this way. It felt great to pick up and walk out like that. I don’t need this shit and I don’t want it.

Tuesday, Oct. 3, 8:30am, desk

I hate women especially, and today I hate Ava and I hate Maddy. I’m so angry at Maddy because I feel like I do more work than she does. It’s not even like I feel like, I just do. I do more of the work than her and it pisses me off. I hate the fact that she got back together with Davis and I hope everything goes to shit with them because they make me sick.

He makes me sick. He’s a fucking disgusting self-absorbed sack of puke, and I hate his obnoxious voice and his smug, superior manner. I can’t believe she fell for his shit twice. I guess it reminds me of me and Jackson getting back together after we broke up.

My mom just called, speaking of asshole women I hate. The rage is just right there under my ribs threatening to blow them open. I don’t even know how to breathe anymore. I’m in hell and I hate the world. This is not what I meant to do, nor do I think this is the point of the exercise.

How am I supposed to deal with the intense fury and rage I constantly feel, that people are constantly exacerbating? What the fuck am I supposed to do with all the fuckers in the world? I need more friends. I need to stop hating myself. I don’t necessarily need to stop hating other people. Just their voices, just the facts of their existences really irks me.

Fuck everybody. I’m so mad and full of bile, and I don’t want to be this way. God, I’m at work and I can’t even have the luxury of thinking my thoughts, not that thinking my thoughts is any luxury.

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