>>From: Belacqua
>>To: Perdita
>>Subject: thinking of you
>>Date: Sat, 04 Nov 2000

I’m really reaching now. I bought a book today on Zen Buddhism because Buddhists always seem to have so much peace, and that's really all I’m after. I’m not going to be happy, so I can at least be peaceful. I think I’m in too much turmoil to die right now, like there's some level I have to be on to be able to embrace death. I don't know.

Reading your thoughts and responses has become the bright spot of my day, a day when for a few minutes I’m connected with someone. Someone understands, and it's so bizarre because from your first e-mail I had a feeling not unlike love (god I hate the way that I can't ever say anything directly). I felt this deep, intense connection and it felt like love. It might have been. It might still be. All I know is that if you were to kill yourself and leave me here, I’d be completely lost and I wouldn't know what to do. And I guess I wouldn't really know. I would hope you would send me some sort of good-bye. Not knowing is always worse. I’ve had crazy thoughts like just getting in my car and driving up the coast (stuff like this is so hard to even type...it sounds so crazy and fanatic...but my mind doesn't necessarily work in a straight line...), things like suicide pacts,…. Suffice it to say you've been on my mind quite a bit lately.

The artist in me swells up when I’m deep in the dark. It almost takes over. Right now, I feel like I’m in full command of whatever artistic talent I have. I can hit the phrases, words, and subtleties that usually escape me. It doesn't make me feel better, just a little more powerful. I was just seized with something on campus today and had to sit and write. I’m almost surprised with the result. Here's the initial draft:

The world's on fire, swallowed
In a cold conflagration of dying,
Jostled between the hammer of summer
And wily winter months.
Everything is slowly losing its slippery hold
Except for the people.
They sweep the skeletons from their lawns
And erect funeral pyres
To burn their dead with the trash.
They plan and live through the decadent season
Crushing bones to dust with their soles.

In my heart, it's always Autumn.
A neverending fire shedding its leaves
Bracing itself for winter's slowing slap,
Knowing the spring cannot summon the dead to dance.

Fall is such a symbolic season for me. I just love to watch everything die, and I know people say that it's hopeful because it's just part of a cycle and they'll live again, but they're wrong. The trees never died -- the leaves died, and no spring can ever bring them back.

Belacqua

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>From: Perdita
>To: Belacqua
>Subject: thinking of you
>Date: Sat, 04 Nov 2000

Belacqua,

You know, there are many reasons for some of the things I do that no one else really understands. But I think you'll understand what I mean when I say that I'm constantly thinking about other people and the way I feel about them, and if I'm thinking about them, I have to let them know right away. The thought is ever upon me that they or I are likely to be dead within the hour, so it's my way of ensuring that I have no regrets about neglecting to tell someone something before one of us is dead.

That said, I just have to tell you that I'm sitting here this morning, feeling like shit because I couldn't sleep last night. I had some coffee and tried to wake myself up, but try as I may to feel less sleepy, I can't. Try as I may to fall asleep, I can't. So, I decided to write a song, and the song ended up having a chorus that says, "If you knew my pain, you'd be happy for me." Of course, it was supposed to be my attempt to tell people how they wouldn't understand me killing myself unless they were happy about it, and so I remembered what you said about it being bittersweet if I did end up killing myself.

I didn't exactly finish the song, and in fact, it's frustrating me endlessly now because I can't seem to get across what I want to say without it coming across as completely cheesy, so I put it down and decided to go outside for a smoke. I haven't made it out for my smoke, yet, because I'll probably end up sitting outside for an hour, finishing the rest of the pack, but I wanted to tell you that I just got this overwhelming feeling that I wanted you to be here so you could sit next to me and smoke. Isn't that ridiculous? I just wanted to have you sitting next to me, quietly smoking, so we could both just think for a few minutes, and it was somewhat comforting for me to think there was someone out there who actually COULD sit there with me and know what I was trying to say in that song without me even having to say it.

I just want everything to stop right now. I'm tired of it, and I don't feel like going on anymore. I don't believe that anything will come out of my life, and I just want to stop putting off the inevitable.

Thought you might understand. Thanks for listening.
Perdita