>>From: Belacqua
>>To: Perdita
>>Subject: aftermath
>>Date: Tue, 12 Dec 2000

The absolute worst thing about liquor, once you get over the taste, is how you feel when you come down off it. I can drink any other form of alcohol, get smashed, and when I start to get sober, I just sober up. With liquor, it feels like I'm going through fucking withdrawal. First, my mouth gets so dry I can't swallow, then I zoom in and out of focus before finally settling down into that final state of nausea that precedes the most evil headache known to man. But my god, I needed a drink. I don't mind drinking for the hell of it, but I really hate when I feel like I'm going to lose my mind if I don't get completely wasted. That's when I start drinking dangerously. I do triple shots every ten minutes. So far, I've been good about knowing when to stop.

I have a problem with misreading people and assuming the worst. Earlier today, when I went to see my friend and he was kind of brooding and just acting different towards me, I instantly assumed it was because I had fucked something up and he couldn't be around me anymore. When I went down there later, I realized that he was really tired earlier and kind of in a bitchy mood altogether. I want to tell you that I really appreciate you wanting to talk to him for me. It's kind of funny, because when he confronted me, he was scared and worried and pissed off all at the same time, and each emotion seemed to kind of randomly pop up. The thing I remember most is that he asked me, "Is Perdita into this too?" and somehow, calmly, I responded, "I don't know that 'into' is really the right way to put it. I'd say she's also cursed with it, yes." And that was really the point where he lost his edge with me and seemed to get really lost by the whole thing. It was easier for him to imagine it as some sort of fetish that I got off on or something like that and not as a way to cope with my thoughts. He could handle it if I cut myself for fun, but when I do it so I don't lose my mind, it totally slips past his understanding.

So now he knows, and I can only hope that I escape from here before I have to talk to my parents about it because god knows they're scared and confused enough already about me without having to try and come to terms with this. I know they can't understand, and they'll just worry more. I'm going to have to really stay away from home in the summertime.

I was lying on my couch this afternoon with my eyes closed, trying to relax, and as my mind started tail-spinning faster and faster, I could almost feel myself physically falling. I had one of those terrifying moments where I wasn't completely sure that I could fight back the suicide urge. I can't tell whether it’s getting stronger or I'm getting weaker, and I guess in the end it isn't really going to matter all that much. Whether it overpowers me or I give in to it, the same thing will happen. Sometimes I can feel myself coming apart. Right now, my head feels like it weighs a ton and I've been awake for 18 hours. I could manage if I had a decent night's sleep in the past month, but it's too much for me right now so I have to go and lay in bed for at least an hour, feeling so tired I can't move and so frustrated I can't sleep. I used to look forward to going to sleep, and now it's this horrible chore my body imposes upon me between states of consciousness. Anyway, I really enjoyed talking to you tonight. It's so strange because sometimes I call and get your answering machine, and just the sound of your voice helps calm me down some.

I love you.
Belacqua

---

>From: Perdita
>To: Belacqua
>Subject: Re: aftermath
>Date: Tue, 12 Dec 2000

Belacqua,

I'm glad to hear you say that you didn't mind my wanting to talk to your friend. I was worried you might think I was interfering or something, and I certainly didn't want that. It took me a fucking hour to convince myself to try and call him, and now that you're feeling better about the situation, I'm not sure I need to call him at all. But if you ever feel like he's crossing a line that's straining your friendship, I'd definitely want to see if there was something I could do to help.

I always misread people and assume the worst, too. It's worst with my boss because every time he comes in my office, I'm convinced he's going to fire me. It's ridiculous, really, because I know he thinks I'm good at what I do, but I can't help but feel like I'm a complete and total failure who's only hanging on by a thread.

You know, even as I was writing that journal entry yesterday, I felt completely certain that you were gonna flip out and hate me for being so honest. Sometimes when people I know read my writing, they get pissed that I'm so honest, like they want me to continue hiding it all and sweeping it under the carpet, and if they can't see it, it'll all just go away. And I think a lot of people don't feel comfortable knowing what people really think of them. So I'm glad you took my entry the way it was intended, and I hope you know that it doesn't even come close to describing how much I love you and why.

And oh GOD, I'm gonna gush, but I need you to know that I can't stop thinking about lying in your bed Saturday night with your head against mine and hearing the sound of you saying, "I love you," like those words were the most beautiful music I've ever heard. And I feel like such a fucking moron because I try to say, “I love you,” and I feel like the words trip off my tongue with an ugly twist that just doesn't do justice to what I want to say. I love you so much that the words "I love you" simply don't seem to cut it. I want to take them from my mouth, inflate them about a billion times, paint my love on them with the skill of Michelangelo, and then mold them into a symphony so you can listen to them and hear the way the colors bleed together to create a masterpiece of pain mixed with rapture, torture mixed with relief, and love mixed with an indescribable longing to be next to you again.

This morning, I woke up and got ready for work, and when I sat down after getting ready, I finally had a moment to stop and think about who I was and what I was doing and why I was getting ready to leave the apartment, and I was sitting on my bed with my puppy and this hole in the bottom of my stomach that is making me feel constantly sick. I almost called in to say I wasn't coming in to work, and then I started chain smoking, and that didn't help me feel any better, so of course, I ended up cutting my leg open as I listened to the CD you gave me, and shortly thereafter it was time to go to work, so I came in and the cuts on my leg had bled through the wad of Kleenex I used to cover them and I had to completely change them and they've already soaked through the next batch, too. But I got in to work and that's commendable, don't you think? This is fucking ridiculous. How the hell do people do this everyday?

Well, I think it's time for another smoke break. I'm glad I got to talk to you last night. I feel like I'm dying here waiting just to see you again. You're the only thing on my mind, and I just can't think about anything else, but at least hearing from you reminds me that you're still there and you're still able to understand. I miss you so much.

I love you.
Perdita