Another Untitled Unfinished work

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

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Semi-Biographical. Started two years ago. I don't really like it anymore so I don't think I'll finish it

Ever had one of those days when you’re staring down into a ravine and you ask yourself “why don’t I just throw myself down there and see what happens.”  In my mind, I don’t really consider that as suicidal but I’d still never tell that to this admissions lady at the hospital.

She’s an attractive brunette with a tiny waist and tanned legs.  She’s wearing a modestly tailored black suit with tall high-heeled shoes.  Her nails are manicured with a large diamond engagement wedding band combo on her left hand.

I’m here again at Riverside, the place I never wanted to be again. My last resort.

When I walked into the building, I got this horrible feeling and my mind started to rethink and questions this whole situation.

I suppose I am because I didn’t turn around and walk out the door.  Now I’m sitting in a stiff, uncomfortable chair and spilling my guts out to this chick.  She’s making these little “mmhm” noises while her pen flies across the paper in front of her.

At the end of the assessment she asked me if there was anything else about my life that the doctor should know and I say no.

At this point a loud buzzer should have sounded meaning that the given answer was incorrect but this is real life, not some game show and that didn’t happen.

We all know there is something else.  Something else that ways me down other than the depression, the anxiety, the drugs and the booze.  That something really is somebody.  That person in you.


You and I met almost two years ago at a party.  My first impression was a positive one.  I contemplated flirting with you until I saw your wedding band.  After that, I turned my attention back to the guy that brought me to the party in the first place.  He and I had been dating for three months but it was already boring.

I could feel myself starting to hate him.  He didn’t have a car or a job.  He smacked when he ate and lived in an extended stay motel.

So for the next three months I went to these social gatherings and saw you.  Each time you would get a little bit closer.  The second month I was there you told a joke to a group of people I was in that made everyone laugh and me blush.

The next month you and I talked.  When we were away from everyone else you mentioned something about getting together. Stupid me, I agreed.

We exchanged email addresses and struck up a flirty but seemingly harmless correspondence.  Emails lead to phone calls.  The phone calls spawned long, innuendo-filled conversations that eventually led to lunch.

After lunch, in the car on the way back to my apartment, you touched my hair.  In my apartment, in the foyer, you touched the small of my back.  Somehow, all this touching directed us into the bedroom and well, you remember.  This was the day I officially became an adulterer.

So how did I get to this point you ask?  I’m not sure, that’s why I’m writing this.

After six months of stolen moments and two nights in a cheap, sleazy motel, You told your wife. You swore up and down you loved your wife and if she ever left you, you’d be as be as good as dead.

This is when I ask the eternally unanswered question: Are these the actions of a man who truly loves his wife?

The answer: No

It wasn’t until eight months after this that we really stopped seeing each other.  You started going to therapy, moved into your childhood home with your darling little wife and started talking about divorce every time we had sex.

For the last month or so I wanted to strangle you.  You’re so selfish.  You kept withdrawing into yourself and completing ignoring everything around you. I thought I loved you.

One day when you were supposed to come to my work and visit me but you never did.  When I called you, you said something had come up and you weren’t coming. Which was then followed by a meaningless “Are you okay? You don’t sound well” inquiry. 

My reply was no. I’m not okay and it’s all because of you.  It’s always because of you.

The line went dead silent and then you said something empty like I’m sorry. 

Have a nice life, I said and hung up.  You didn’t call back over the next couple of days and I deleted your phone number.

The point is still lost to me but all I know is now that I’ve started I can’t stop.

That’s a lot like all the other things in my life, cocaine, drinking, sex. It’s a disease really.  That’s why I’m here.  Back at the place where every junkie goes when they hit bottom…rehab.

I’m not on coke anymore but I’m headed for a serious mental breakdown and I have to put the breaks on that shit…eerrr! I’ve been in college for two years and I still have no idea what it is I want to do with my life. I live in a crappy apartment with two other girls, see next entry, and I’m completely obsessed with a married man who’s too much of a dick to even notice.

This is why I weigh the pros and cons of throwing myself down this lush ravine. It wouldn’t kill me but I would probably hurt and I’m so tired of feeling so numb. The pain would certainly make me feel alive, maybe.

Submitted: September 23, 2010

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