The Hate List, 2007

42.  How you said I couldn’t have a dog, and if I did, I couldn’t have a little dog.

43.  How you said when the cats passed, I probably couldn’t have any more.

Diary entry, January 7, 1983

Dear Diary,

Today I got out of school at 10:30 am.  We were going to have a family conference with my mom’s doctor.  He talked soft, and I couldn’t hear him when he asked a question.  Finally Mom told him I have a slight hearing problem.  He talked louder to me after that.  I don’t know why they talked so quiet, though.  I guess I never will. That’s life!

Art Therapy/Dracula's Castle, 2005

1

Draft letter, 1992

1    I understand you might be worried about me, therefore I felt compelled to write to you.

.       I am dealing with very painful and serious issues.  I am not ready to talk to you about these issues—if and when I am, I will contact you—I don’t know when—meanwhile, I need from you to give me time and space.  Meaning do not call or write me, Ryan, or other family members.  No other family member knows anything.

I understand that this will be difficult for you and I encourage you to see a counsellor.

If there is an emergency or anything you need to know about me, you will hear about it.

I loved you more than snow on my birthdays in December.

Diary entry, January 3, 1990

I know what hate is, she said.  I know how to hate him and I know how to hate myself.

So they sent her to someone who could teach her how not to hate.  He had nothing to do with God or Christs nailed to crosses.

It took a long time.  But she learned how to not to hate.  Instead she learned how not to trust.  She could live with mistrust.  She could not live with hate.

Puzzle Pieces

Ghosts and scissors and all manner of things.

To Sleep

Tired but awake again

because wakefulness is waiting for

my answer

I am ready this time

ready to embrace the disbelief

to refuse the hand that

once could pull me to

my feet

Floating into ache once more

with no morning defense

when the sun broke me like

a cudgel to

the head

stole from me any

last moments for

dreaming

Memory waits still and near for me

I am endlessly choosing I am

at last losing what allowed me to

creep through the hole in the

floor

So tired of attempting

            to end this need for sleeping