Why Do I Destroy Things?
I have no one on my side. Sunday night at work, we get drunk, I make out with Thomas. But I’m Mark’s girlfriend? I’m probably Ben’s girlfriend too. I don’t even know who these people are. They’re all just a blob of male to me.
After work, I tell Mark we need to run away and “find ourselves” and “create new identities” in Mexico. (Mark is my favorite one right now, I think.) We hatch a plan to escape who we are and who we are becoming. This place is killing me.
I pack my stuff and go to his place, but when I finally get there, I’m so tired. I just fall asleep in his bed.
Wake up suddenly, Mark is yelling: “GET OUT, GET OUT, GET UP. YOU NEED TO LEAVE NOW.” I thought he was joking. Then I saw he was holding my iPhone. He had taken it out of my purse and read all my messages with other guys. Ben had called.
Mark kicks me out saying the same thing they all say. You’re a disgusting slut, you’re a liar, you’re a fake, and so on.
Mark throws my bags into the street. I fight back in a depression. I bite his face. I am crazy. I grab a Snapple tea and a butcher knife from his kitchen.
Outside, under streetlights: I’m chugging tea, throw the bottle on the concrete. Get down on my knees to cut my throat…
I thought cutting my throat with such a sharp object would be easier. I was just left with blood.
I call Ben a thousand times. He picked up once saying, “STAY THE FUCK OUT OF MY LIFE.”
I call my friend Joan. Tell her I need help, when I get to her condo, I take 60mgs of Adderall and a few Klopins, write this. I throw my iPhone off her balcony secretly hoping it hits someone on their head and kills them. But I fail at that too.