March 1992

3/6/1992 Friday 1:12 AM

I haven’t written for twelve days, and a lot has happened since. Some good, and some not so good. But that’s life, I guess. Isn’t it?

I got Andy’s sixteen-page letter, and I wrote him a twenty-four-page letter. I have lots of stuff to mail out, but I must get lots of stamps first.

Let me get the depressing, scary, and confusing stuff out of the way first. Massachusetts’s welfare and disability programs are very different from Connecticut’s. It’s meant to be that way, as they take every opportunity possible to hassle, inconvenience, and screw you over—especially whenever a person moves.

When I went to the asthma doctor, they weren’t able to see me right away, but they were patient and understanding. They called around about billing, as they’re not MassHealth providers. Medicare is national, but Medicaid is state-based. The doctor did see me and gave me an Alupent sample, a refill prescription for Alupent, Theodur, and this new patch called Habitrol. At Genovese Drugstore, there was no way I could afford the Habitrol, which was over $100. The Alupent was also expensive, so I got Theodur instead. Luckily, the generic brand was only $12.59. I thought it’d be $50 or $60. Thank God that much was affordable. The city welfare department said to call the state welfare. They’re sending me an application, but it may take forty-five days to get my card. She did say that if I needed emergency prescriptions, she could write an affidavit of some sort for the pharmacist.

In Massachusetts, everything is all combined, with the state distributing everything. In fact, my SSI and Social Security payments may go from $556.39 to $442. If so, there’s this cash award thing that takes over and supplements me, and it can go up to $400. That’d be $842, plus food stamps.

Later, I’ll write about what Tammy and I spoke to the woman at welfare about. It’s confusing, though, and Tammy says not to let them screw me over, rip me off, or mislead me. No shit! I’ll also write what that doctor said. Lastly, Ann Marie, who was here from late Monday until late Tuesday.

3/10/1992 Tuesday 4:31 PM

As far as my prescriptions go, I should be all set until I get the Connecticut cards. If only my other apartment in South Deerfield were here! In this state, it would have been made affordable by both the state and the city without my parents’ help. In Massachusetts, it’s all done by the state. As soon as the cards are approved and I get them, I must make a very serious attempt to quit smoking and get that Habitrol prescription. If I cannot quit after really giving it everything I’ve got, then I’m going to seriously think I’m fated to die. I must do my best ever to try and quit permanently, as I may very well have the beginnings of emphysema. I’m completely cornered and running out of choices as far as making any more compromises. There is no more compromising, as I’ve gotten so bad.

I spoke to my mom, who was encouraging, as well as Tammy, who also needs to try and quit. She’s getting worse too and is going to try the Habitrol. It’s a patch you stick on yourself all day, as nicotine is released through the skin. It sounds better than the gum, which gives chest palpitations and kills your jaw totally, unlike ordinary gum. At first, my attitude was whatever’s meant to be will be. I have no real obligations holding me back, such as kids, a job, or a lover. I’ll only live for second best. I’ll never be able to live my dreams, but not being able to breathe is a slow, painful way to go. I’d much rather fill up my bathtub and toss in my hairdryer if I had to. Personally, I think I’m mad enough now, as it’s been four years since I’ve gone through this shit. At first, you’re a little annoyed, then scared and frustrated, then mad as you become completely trapped. I don’t want to waste this voice I never thought I’d have. It does me no good to sing well yet always have to cough and hack up phlegm.

I just stopped for a moment to call Dad, since I know Mom won’t be back until tomorrow. She’s in Disney World, and I was shocked to hear from Dad that she’s with Ronnie. Dad says they haven’t seen each other for a few years. I thought they’d completely cut each other out, like with Larry. Maybe they did for a while.

6:17 P.M.

I took another break because Jenny from next door just came over. I polished her nails and played her songs by the Judds, then she left.

Shadow’s here pigging out. I just let him in. He goes in and out all day.

When Jenny was here, she asked me to measure her waist with the tape measure. She’s nine years old, and her waist is only four inches smaller than mine.

Tammy may be calling any second.

I got a book of twenty stamps and mailed out tons of letters: a twenty-four-page letter to Andy, as well as another eight-page letter with different colors of paper I just bought. Some went to Fran, Nervous, Bob, Kim, and one to Emily. She’ll be quite confused. It’s all mumbo jumbo, and as far as I know, she’s not aware of my moving here. I haven’t seen or talked to her since before moving to South Deerfield. I also wrote to Cassandra.

I bought a nice pair of pants on sale for $6 when Ann Marie was here. Size fourteen in girls. They’re purple with big black polka dots. Today, I bought two nice shirts. They’re too hard to describe, but I must sort out all my clothes.

Tammy tells me Lisa needs jeans desperately, and I know I have some for her, as well as some I’m going to cut into shorts. I also want to reorganize my drawers and closets now that I’m moved in and settled, as much as I dislike this place. I need to go through and sort out my hair accessories, jewelry, and makeup.

It’s pouring out, yet it sounds like a zoo outside, with all the kids out playing until eight o’clock or so. In the summer, they’ll be out there until midnight.

Jenny tells me she and her family are going to Disneyworld for two weeks when school’s over. That’d make things a lot more peaceful, except for outside. Better outside than next door, with all their banging around and sliding furniture. Voices, TV, and the radio, I can deal with.

Things went well with Ann Marie, even though I did feel awkward here and there, as I’m so used to being alone. When you’re twenty-six, it’s impossible to adjust to and handle unless it’s only a one-nighter here and there. Any more than that, I feel like a trapped, caged animal with no independence.

For $3.49, I got hot oil treatments for my hair at Price Rite, and they really help. Each box comes with two treatments, meant for weekly use. It’s well worth the $7 a month.

Tammy shocked me by saying she’s going to let her hair grow. I thought the day she’d do that would be the day I cut my hair short and keep it that way.

3/11/1992 Wednesday 2:30 AM

I spoke with Bob earlier. He sounds fairly good. Sandra sounds horrible from what Bob says. She’s at the end of her rope. He got my letter and says he’ll write me back soon—and call, too. I keep trying Andy, but there’s no answer.

10:30 P.M.

I just did my dishes and watered my plants.

Tomorrow, I must get up at a decent hour to go to Thames Plaza for my discount on the installation of my phone, and to the electric company to prove I live here. Then all I have to do is wait for my medical cards to hurry up and get here. After that, I’ll have no problem with doctors, prescriptions, and seeing that therapist I never could see. I must also call Social Security and complain to them, asking why it takes about five times of demanding proof of income documents before they finally send them to me. I’ll call city welfare too and tell them I contacted state welfare. I’m not sure if I have to see them or deal with them in any way.

Other than that, I must get shades and a washer and dryer.

And try quitting smoking.

There’s been a major breakthrough with asthma. Andy also told me about it last night. Somewhere in London, they narrowed down about 100 genes or so. They know now that one out of those 100 genes is the cause of asthma. I still wish lungs were as disposable and changeable as a baby’s diaper.

You know what I’d just love to do right now? Go on a cruise. I spoke to Dad about it, and he told me to save up my money. Tammy tells me she’d love to go on a cruise. It would help if I had someone, such as Tammy, helping me with the details like airfare and other logistics. I mean, not expenses, but just helping me get to and from the airport and on and off the cruise ship. On TV, they always advertise Carnival Cruises, which is out of Miami, according to Dad, and that’s $545 including airfare. Also, as I figured, Tammy says it does include all your food and entertainment. I guess the only other expense would be if you were to buy anything. I’m sure they have a mini gift shop that costs a fortune to shop in. I’d really enjoy going on a cruise myself, as that way there’s no tension from fighting, compromising, or any disagreements. For example, if I went with Tammy and Bill and they didn’t want to eat dinner at five o’clock yet I was hungry, I’d have no compromises to make. Also, I wouldn’t have to worry about Tammy saying I should or shouldn’t do this or that. The only perfect companion would be a drop-dead gorgeous woman—but only if she were beautiful and only expected an occasional get-together here and there. That way, I wouldn’t be smothered and could enjoy my vacation peacefully. It’s hard to thoroughly enjoy something when you’re distracted constantly, even if those distractions aren’t necessarily bad ones.

11:30 P.M.

There are a few other things I want to do here at home besides organizing my hair stuff, jewelry, makeup, clothes, drawers, and closets. I must go through all my tapes and organize them, edit down conversations, and do more editing.

I’d like to get a box large enough to fit all these journals in and lock them up. I’m not stupid, and I know how sisters are. If I were to be away for a week, I wouldn’t put it past her to get a little curious. I may be living in their house for two weeks this June while they all go to Florida.

As for Shadow, I guess I’ll have to leave him either outside, on his leash, or take him with me. I’d rather he be on his leash and have someone bring him here every few days to feed him. Plus, I will need to pick up my mail and maybe get something from here.

When I go to the beach, I’m sure Tammy won’t mind dropping in to feed him and play with him for a while. Tammy did say that a friend of hers would bring me to the store if I needed to go and would check on me to make sure all is well.

3/12/1992 Thursday 4:41 PM

I just had a really nice talk with Tammy. First of all, she told me that last night she really let Mom and Dad both have it. She said at first Dad wouldn’t let her talk to Mom, saying, “You’re upset and she’s upset.” Tammy then said that for thirty-four years Dad’s done nothing but stand back while Ma does her shit. That’s been the case for all three of us kids. Tammy said Dad told her not to go back thirty-four years, which is definitely something my dad would say. However, I know that the past is the past and cannot be changed, but sometimes one must bring up the past in order to make peace with and deal with the present and the future. Mom and Dad can’t seem to understand this.

The shocking thing about it all is that Tammy said Dad did say he felt bad, ashamed, and embarrassed by what he’s done. Usually, if I’ve ever bitched about Mom to him, he gets pretty agitated and defensive of her. Tammy said she told Mom, “The bottom line is you see the moon, and I see the Sunday We can never agree on anything, and you always go back and forth and are too contradictory.”

That is absolutely true, although Tammy herself has done the same thing—not as much anymore, as we had a discussion about that, and also about not taking me at face value. I told her that if there’s something I’m not sure about, I’d tell her so, but I’d never purposely mislead or bullshit her. There’s no point or need for either one of us to do that in this day and age.

She mentioned the prescription Habitrol, which costs $129. I owe her $35 and will not get my medical cards for a while. I called Genovese and asked the price of the partial cost, which is $50. I told her to get a prescription for it from her doctor, and I’d pay my half and her half, since I owe her money anyway. Then, when we can both afford the other half, we can get it, as the druggist keeps it on record that they owe you more meds. Then, when I get my Connecticut medical cards in five billion years, I can get them free of charge since I’ll already have the prescription in my pocketbook. I will share that with her.

3/13/1992 Friday 1:05 AM

The last Friday the thirteenth I remember was when Mom visited, so I know this one can’t be that bad.

The former DA of Springfield was tossed out for corruption and his connection to organized crime members. He was on A Current Affair tonight. I called and told Tammy, who was shocked and thrilled to see it, so she watched the 7:30 edition of it.

She’s gonna be here early in the morning, and I hope I get to sleep soon. She’ll also be here with Bill on Saturday.

Tomorrow I have to go to Price Rite. Maybe my courtesy card has come in.

6:15 PM

I went out to the store a couple of hours after Tammy and the girls were here.

Tammy said she only slept a few hours because of a bad ambulance call she had. Someone she knows had a bad seizure. I didn’t sleep too long either. At around 4:30 AM, I began to doze off, but it was such a light sleep for a while. I’d keep opening my eyes and see it get lighter and lighter. When the sun was halfway up, I finally fell into a deep sleep and stayed that way until Tammy came in at 11:00. That was cool, as I figured she’d be here earlier, like 9:00 or 9:30.

I had a bag full of clothes to give them. Last night I sorted through my drawers. I pulled every stitch of clothing out, sorted it, and refolded it. All that’s left to rearrange are my closets and all the other stuff I mentioned earlier.

Perhaps tonight I’ll put up my posters and more of my favorite pictures. Nah, I’m too bushed, but at least I have a few projects to look forward to. It’s no fun to do everything all at once.

I called city welfare, and I need not have anything to do with them—at least that’s what I think right now until I’m told differently. One worker says one thing, and another says another.

Jessie called last night. Of course, she called when I was in the middle of watching TV. The phone never rings when I’m not doing much of anything, but if people can’t get hold of me when I’m not busy, they’ll have a hard time from now on. That’s because I’m gonna let my machine pick up whenever I’m busy. She’s been sick for three weeks, so she said she’ll call next week about visiting me.

Tomorrow, Tammy, Bill, and the girls will be here between 11:00 and noon. I hope I get to sleep earlier so I can be up for a change when they get here.

I went to Price Rite today and spent $26 on food, but I shopped well and made it go a long way. On the sixteenth, my courtesy card will be in.

It only cost me $3 for a cab ride both ways. I thought it’d be $6. The driver says he knows people in bands and that he’d give my number to anyone looking for a singer.

Yeah, right.

3/14/1992 Saturday 10:48 PM

Last night I was so tired, but naturally, I lay there tossing and turning till 4:30 AM. I mentally programmed myself and told myself to get up at 10:00, and I did.

I was ready before noon, but Tammy, Bill, and the girls didn’t arrive till around 1:00. They all heard the banging next door, too. I told Barbara I couldn’t care less about the TV, music, or even voices. It’s the fucking banging, as the vibration is tremendous. I think it’s pretty sad and sick for me to have to put in earplugs just to lie down for an hour in the daytime or to go to bed early. The earplugs will block out their TV and voices, but I can feel the vibration, and it jolts me awake. No one should have to live like this.

After the 24th, when Mary Jane returns from some kind of surgery, I’m gonna demand something be done. If they can’t put sheetrock up through their floors that are over mine, and I can’t move, I’ll demand a rent deduction. I mean, come on. There are things you can bear with and accept, and then there’s no fucking excuse. These kids should be able to be kids and run around and play, but it shouldn’t have to be at my expense. Even as I’m just sitting here writing, I don’t need to put up with banging over my head. And these aren’t occasional bangs. They’re loud and non-stop. Something is gonna be done about this. They’re lucky all I care about is the banging. The average person wouldn’t and couldn’t put up with their constant screaming and their TV. They don’t even have to scream to be heard easily. You can practically hear them word for word when they whisper.

Bill managed to program some channels into my VCR for recording. It took him a while, and he too, wanted to bash the damn thing with his head. Tammy did not get Habitrol or Nicoderm from her doctor. Instead, she was given a patch called Prostep. She said her doctor said that it was right for her, but may not be right for me, so I should check with my doctor. She’s gonna keep me posted on how she’s doing, but I did speak to her at 7:30 this evening. She says she quit at 3:30, and she feels fine.

3/15/1992 Sunday 7:13 PM

I slept twelve hours, and believe me, I needed it. I did wake up several times during the early morning and early afternoon due to next door’s commotion. I feel much better, though—that’s for sure.

Tammy is still doing well but has had one cigarette. I spoke to her at 4:00 in the afternoon.

I got up and did my hot oil treatment after I took a bath. Tonight, since I know I’ll be up all night, I’ll work on my drawings and do some editing. Sometime I’ll have to record Shadow and me meowing at each other and edit that.

I’m gonna try calling Kim to see if she’s gotten my second letter, and maybe Bob, too. Jessie will surely call when I’m watching Columbo.

Right now I’m gonna finish my coffee, then go sing.

8:00 PM

I did some singing, and that has been much better, and so has my breathing. However, if I get too little sleep and smoke too much, it creeps up on me.

As I told Tammy before I moved here, my usual schedule was crazier, but at least I was able to sleep. The things that used to wake me up back then were a joke compared to here.

There have been lots of things I hated and swore I’d never miss. Then once a certain situation worsens, I miss them like hell. The only other problem on Woodside, besides the noise outside or from Shadow, was Brenda. Her desperation and clinginess could not always stop her from ringing my doorbell. I had to tell her a billion times, then finally scream at her and cuss her out big-time to get her to stop.

I just gave Shadow the rest of my chicken dinner. He really enjoys being outdoors. I usually have him inside on his leash at night. When he wants to go out, he goes to the door. I guess those earplugs do serve another purpose—that’s having him in at night. His metal leash makes so much noise clanking against the floor, his bowl, and his litter box, which the earplugs block out.

Time to go call Kim, if she’s home.

8:40 PM

Bob’s phone was busy, and there was no answer at Kim’s. I called Andy, who said he received both my letters. The postmark said New Haven. He said the phone company removed his long-distance block, but he didn’t want to get carried away with ringing up his bill. Tuesdays and Wednesdays are his days off, so hopefully, he’ll call me on one of those days.

The movie is on now, but it’s in the middle of a commercial.

It’s still freezing out. I hope it starts warming up. I want to go to the beach!

Andy says he’s counting down the days till we see each other. I can’t wait.

11:15 PM

The Columbo movie was okay, but not as good—not the usual thing either. Rather than the usual murder plot, a policeman’s wife was kidnapped. Naturally, they saved her right before she was gonna be killed.

Last night I saw an amazing stunt show. The people involved in these stunts were suicidal in the worst kind of way. One man rode his motorcycle over two big eighteen-wheelers. There was a ramp on the back of one rig and one on the front of the first rig. Both rigs, with their attached ramps, drove forward at thirty miles per hour. The second one was a guy in a speedboat and a guy water-skiing. They both went off one ramp while the skier went off the other. The skier did a somersault while in mid-air. Then the guy in the boat flew off the ramp over one hundred twenty feet for a new world record. The last one was quite bizarre, called Dangerous Crossings, and that’s a great name. A plane flew forty miles an hour just a few feet off the ground, careful not to be three feet higher because of the car about him. A car would cross above the plane, while a motorcycle would cross up above them both. It was awesome.

3/16/1992 Monday 12:15 AM

I wish Bob were a local call, let alone Fran and Andy. Andy works all night, and Fran sleeps all night.

I wonder what in God’s name ever happened to Steve. Where did he move to?

I desperately wish I could sleep, because I have a few things to do tomorrow. I hope it’s not bitterly cold either. I must go to Genovese for more earplugs unless Barbara gets some. Also, I need to get cat food and cigarettes and call Dr. Kamireddy, who gave me a prescription for Habitrol, to see if Prostep is okay.

Tammy said you can’t have any caffeine on this patch, or else you will puke. Great. I really need to quit, though, so it’s worth it. I’m just worried about my weight, especially with summer on its way. Aren’t I always worrying about that anyway? I heard, however, that you can starve and exercise till there’s no tomorrow, and you’ll still gain weight.

I am gonna have some toast and try to sleep. If I can’t, I’ll be back.

1:45 AM

I’m back. I spoke to Bob for a few minutes, and he and Kim are going out to dinner tomorrow evening. He has certificates for some restaurant and is going to discuss funeral arrangements for Sandra with Kim. Poor Sandra’s miserable and is at the very end of her rope. Bob says Kim’s working twelve-hour shifts, but that’s nothing new. She’d leave at 7:00 AM and come home between 9:00 PM and 11:00 PM, talk on the phone, and go to bed. It used to irk me when she’d say, “Yeah, I’ll be home for two hours tomorrow. Come over so we can talk.” But out of those two hours, we were lucky if we spoke for fifteen minutes, because her phone would never stop ringing and she’d remember a billion calls she needed to make.

5:30 PM

I went to Genovese and bought six pairs of earplugs for $2.89. Of course, six pairs are really twelve pairs for me. I forgot about checking into the Lactaid tablets. I’m still bloated, and it’s really pissing me off. I am still one hundred pounds, but I look like I’m 110–115, even though everyone disagrees with me. I feel very out of proportion compared to when Andy and I were always at the beach in 1989. They really mean it when they say muscle takes up space as well as fat. I’m definitely not fat, just bloated and muscular. The cause of the bloating is definitely gas due to dairy foods—maybe a little water, too. About four years ago, you could feel my muscles developing, but not see them. Then, you could see them with a bathing suit on, shorts, or a mini skirt. Now, I can practically have a mattress on, and people have mentioned it without me saying a word or bringing up the subject. I used to feel that my outer thighs and hips were fine. Now they’re not bigger but defined more, with ridges and ripples. So it’s muscle, but too big in a way that throws off the proportioning. My chest is even a little bigger. My bust is thirty-three, my waist twenty-four, my hips thirty-three, my lower gut twenty-nine, and thighs twenty. As you can see, my lower belly and thighs don’t go with the rest of me.

When I came back from the grocery store, I found a note from the NHA. They want to modernize the place and mentioned homeowners’ fair housing laws, as well as redoing kitchens, bathrooms, and other stuff in the area, like eliminating drugs. Well, they’re sure gonna hear my gripe about the layout of this building, and I called Tammy, who said go for it. When Tammy was here, she heard an eighth of the problem but could just imagine the full extent when the kids are home. I called the office, and the girl there said to fill out the form. They’re moving me somehow, somewhere. The outside noise is horrendous too. Wait till the summer! No way—I’m gone before then. I mean, I’m out of here.

I also went to Price Rite, as I mentioned before. My courtesy card came in, and I got some cat food, TV dinners, coffee, and a few other items. Rather than two oil treatments for $3.49, I found another brand for $3, plus another package of similar treatments all for $2.59.

It’s freezing out.

3/17/1992 Tuesday 6:23 PM

I am in a very pissed-off mood, and I don’t feel guilty for it. I hate it here. I absolutely hate it. I spoke with Dave and Barbara, who spoke to the housing authority, and I called the office myself. A girl named Sue told me to wait until Mary Jane comes back, since she’s the property manager.

I told Tammy about what Layne and Jenny said. Supposedly, a junkie who lives over in the next court was chasing them through the woods with a gun. People are trying to evict this guy. Also, I heard some other woman, who I think lives next door to Dave and Barbara, mention a few things. I heard her mention Mary Jane, but how or why, I don’t know. All I know is that they sound pretty pissed and frantic about a lot going on around here. Something about a state trooper molesting his kids and another drug bust. Several other things were mentioned concerning this area, but I couldn’t hear enough to find out exactly.

I told all this to Tammy and how I felt bad for her. She went through all this shit to get me here, not knowing about all this—mainly the noise from next door and how this building is built. Dave again said it is a major dive and mentioned his father at the bottom of the hill, and how Mary Jane should never have put me here. After Tammy heard all this from Barbara and me, and having been here to see and hear it firsthand, she said she’s going to talk to Mary Jane and tell her I must be moved. The noise is horrendous outside, as well as all day on weekends and from 3:00 PM to 8:00 PM on weekdays. I’m sick of having to blast my music to block out what sounds like a whole football field of kids. Trying to talk on the phone at that time isn’t easy. It’s totally annoying.

Now for the better news. Last week, I called Cassandra and started off by saying I was her neighbor and asked her to turn her stereo down. At first, she was completely caught off guard. It was a bad night for her to talk, though, so she returned my call and did the same thing to me. I told her I really did have lots of complaining to do and filled her in on the entire situation.

Damn, do I miss my old place! Of course, not the isolation, but as I told Tammy, certain compromises aren’t acceptable.

Cassandra gave me a number for a very prestigious modeling company, exactly like the one that was at the Sheridan until I got cursed. Tonight they were in Holyoke, and I’m going to call to see when and if they’ll be in this area. It sounded very legit and non-seedy like the other one. It’s for kids, men, and women, and it doesn’t require any experience. I’d really love to check this out, and I mentioned it to Tammy. I hope having no car won’t screw it up if I ever break into other possibilities again—important things to me, music-related or not.

Fran and Jessie called last night, of course at the same time while a movie was on, but I was recording it, luckily. I was laughing while I told Tammy about Fran’s problem and my response to it. Not the CP lady whose name is Melissa, but Sharon, whom I’ve taped before, went off on Fran. According to Fran, she and he have had numerous loud fights. Once Sharon pulled off the fire alarm, so now he says he’s being evicted. He may move to Winter Street. I said to Fran how I envied him, and for the first time, I really wished to hell I was being evicted.

Jessie and I had a nice talk, but she poured her heart out to me about David. All her boyfriends fuck her over, but she settles for the wrong reasons. We discussed Big Bird’s home in Hawaii and how much both of us want to go. Her father just put in a nine-person hot tub. He has really expanded his house in Woodstock, Connecticut. I’ve never been to his place in New York near the set of Sesame Street, but I heard he may have gotten another house in Germany or Paris. Jessie says she’s definitely going to go to Hawaii for a month but doesn’t want to go alone. We discussed my going with her, and she’s told me she’s definitely going to talk to Carol. Because Carol knows me, according to Jessie, all I need to pay for is airfare, and everything else is paid. Jessie says, of course, there’s no hotel money, and she’s given a rental car to use, and they keep enough food in the house stocked up to feed an army for years. I want to go!

3/18/1992 Wednesday 1:43 AM

When Tammy was making pork chops for dinner earlier, she said something so funny. I don’t know if she was kidding or serious, and I was like, OK, whatever. Her beliefs are her beliefs, but I never believed, understood, or even heard of any such thing. She told me she said a prayer over the pork chops so that made them kosher. Does that mean that if I said a prayer over Gloria’s picture that it’s kosher? It just sounds so funny and has me laughing to myself.

I meowed with Shadow for a while (he meows back when I meow), left a message on Andy’s machine, then called Bob. He was in the process of reading my letter and told me he’d write me a letter after we hung up.

The dinner with Kim went fairly well, but he still wishes she’d visit more. He’s lucky if he spends 5 minutes with her on the phone when she gets home from work. I’d get the same thing. When she was home, it was nearly impossible to talk to her for 5 minutes without interruption. Her phone would ring, she’d have to make a call, run out to the store, class, friends’ houses, family, ambulance calls. Bob said she did say she planned on seeing me sometime. Wow. Maybe she did mean it. She did call me, after all. Who knows for sure whether or not she’ll ever call again or see me?

Bob also told me she said something I already knew. She had told me this personally, but even if she hadn’t it was quite obvious. She’s not satisfied with Mark because he never wants to do anything with her. Just drink beer, watch TV, or be with his buddies. She’s sorry she married him. He was always a very quiet and mellow guy. Never been a conversationalist.

Bob really enjoys my letters late at night when he’s up, bored stiff. He has fun figuring them out and putting them together. I can just imagine what’ll be in his letter. I write across the pages from bits and pieces of journals and backward. Bits and pieces of lines from the TV if I have it on at the time, and running sentences together with no spaces between the words. Also, I include some Spanish, since I can’t write in sign language.

12:37 AM

I hope that this April 12 at 12:30 PM will not be the same as it was the last 8 years. This is something that is difficult to write about even though I’ve talked about it. Out of those I have spoken to, very few have heard it in vivid detail—at least, the details I’m able to remember. Well, maybe I’m now ready to put those horrid memories on paper. I am only just beginning to be able to write more about certain people and events from my past. It does feel good to confront and deal with these issues rather than block them out. I mean, in this journal. Maybe it was hard for a while due to two reasons. One is that it’s quicker to speak words rather than to write them. Two is fear of anyone reading this, but who could? I don’t know too many people. Then again, do I really care who reads this?

Whatever my feelings are, I have a right to them. Whether they’re good or bad, I must obviously feel certain feelings for a reason or else I wouldn’t feel them. More and more as time goes on, I’ve been talking less and less and writing more and more. This is what I wanted, though. I basically talk about trivial things unless I feel something’s important enough to say, such as what’s been going on since moving in here. I know who to say what to and who not to say what to, but I refuse to lie. I could’ve told my parents I was happy here. It would’ve sounded great and made their day, but I’d have been lying. Of course, they try to condemn me for the truth and my true feelings, but I don’t let anyone tell me how to feel. If that were possible, I wouldn’t desire to be a professional singer. God knows it’d sure be easier not to want to be.

As soon as I get a microwave, that’s it. I’ll miss my dad, but it’s not worth my mother. Yes, the past is the past, but it’s not that simple and it doesn’t end there. I blame my mother much more than my father, but my father was still no angel. Plus, one has to take one moment and forget they’re your parents and just look at them as people—the individual people that they are. Who are they? Not my type. The packages of clothes and hair accessories were nice, but it doesn’t replace parents and good people. I don’t admire the people that they are, but rather than set out to change them, as they would do, I’d just rather not be bothered with them. I’m tired of Mom’s moods and attitude. And because she’s too weak to admit to her mistakes, she’s got to try and stick her guilt, blame, and shame on Tammy and me because she’s too weak to deal with her problems. To say, “I was wrong,” or “I should’ve been the one to seek help,” is too low for her. No, it’d be really lowering herself in her opinion. She’s too “strong” for that, so it’s easier to say I’m the wacko. Much easier to avoid repairing the damage she’s done and continue to dump on her kids. She can only do it verbally now. Too bad, and poor, poor Dureen.

Since Andy’s late on calling, as usual, I’ll get on now with April 12, 1983. It’ll be 9 years since the day I jumped. As most people know, there’s a difference between a memory, a thought, a dream, and a flashback. I’d rather have nightmares than a flashback. Flashbacks are all too real. You’re reliving the whole situation. You’re at that place, thinking you’re whatever age you were. Flashbacks are always of something traumatic. Never happy. They’re so terrifyingly real. Several therapists told me they’re common in most PTSD people—that’s Post Traumatic Syndrome. I could be asleep or up in a fantastic mood, but every April 12 at exactly 12:30 PM, it replays itself. All too real. All too scary. I’m scared. I must be home alone that day. For the last 9 years, there’s been no escaping it. Even if I’m busy, really happy, and laughing my ass off. If I’m asleep, I bolt up wide awake. I relive the whole ordeal, and it seems so real, like it’s 1983 again. I’m 17, and I see so much detail—more details than I can remember at any other time of year. Sort of like looking at a picture of a house compared to standing right in front of it and seeing it in person.

I’d been there for 8 months. I walked into Debby B’s office for our session, and she said, “So. I hear you’re on suicidal observation?” I said yes, and she knew I must have an “escort” at all times—someone bringing me to and from places. She made me feel worse about myself. She tells me I’ll be there another year and 4 months, until August of 1984. I feel like a prisoner. A mass murderer. Trapped. A caged animal. She allows me to leave alone after the session. I’m scared. I’m miserable. Feel no good and good for nothing. Much worse. I want to scream out for help. Want to cry. What good will it do? No one will hear me. No one will care. I walk numbly into the wing, as they called it, then into room 13, the far wing toward the back of the house. I know I’m going to do something stupid. Something I’ll regret. I look out the window. It’s lunchtime. The other girls are passing by. They’re entering the back door, into the cellar, to come up for lunch. I want to scream for help. I know it’ll do no good. I’m trapped, and I want out is what comes to mind. This isn’t fair! I’m not a bad kid. Somebody hear me! Somebody care! Help me! Love me! I’m trapped! I want out now! The girls are gone. I’m not a criminal. I’m just a girl whose mother felt it was easier just to cast aside like a piece of rotten fruit.

I can’t go on now. Another time, maybe.

3/20/1992 Friday 6 PM

I am at my sister's now. I was picked up at 2:00.

3/22/1992 Sunday 1:20 AM

Well, I guess I didn’t get to write much the other day. When you’re babysitting three kids, you cannot write in a journal. I babysat from 2:00 PM to 10:00 PM. Tammy and Bill went out to dinner and a movie. I’d also done four loads of laundry.

There was a message from Jessie when I returned from babysitting. She never called back until last night, but my father called that night while I was putting my laundry away. He and Ma sounded in an OK mood—actually better than usual, especially Mom. Once a year she’s in a jolly old mood. Perhaps it’s because she had just come back from Disneyland. Or Disney World. Whichever one it is. After the dispute Tammy said she had with them, I sort of suspected they’d be a little more cheerful with me. I have a package on its way from UPS, and the girls got one too while I was at the house. Dad says there’s hair stuff in the package along with other things. I really hope I get my microwave soon.

As far as dumping them, I’ll leave that up in the air for now. I am no longer speaking to them that often and never would if the calls were free. That’s when the trouble starts. People like them are always easier to deal with if you only speak so much to them. Unless something’s done that really irks me, I’ll leave things as they are. They don’t know it, but they are on their last chance. One more thing is all it’ll take for them to lose me, and if no one can believe that, well, they’ll just have to wait and see, won’t they?

I should be getting a letter from Bob sometime next week. I did what Bob told me to do as far as making plants from other plants. I broke off a twig of four inches, threw it in a glass of water, put it in my kitchen window, and now I have roots. I’ll get some planting soil tomorrow when I go food shopping. I need to go very badly too—I’m completely wiped out of food. I only have around $76 until I get my check, so I’ll have to shop wisely. I won’t need only food but cigarettes, too. I wish I could quit!

Tammy went through exactly what I went through with the Nicorette gum with her patch. She still has bad urges and is smoking a few cigs daily.

3/23/1992 Monday midnight

I sure had an unexpected, unwanted, and terrifying event today. A grease fire. Well, the rooms may not have all been on fire, as Stevie's song says, but my oven surely was. I had gone grocery shopping, and on my way out, I ran into Barb and Dougie. She gave me a ride home. When I got in, I put my food away and threw a steak in my oven on broil. I had it on a small cookie sheet on tin foil with the reflective side down. Sure enough, as I went to open the oven door because I heard a lot of crackling, the damn steak was on fire. I threw open the door, turned off the oven, opened the doors and windows, and called Barbara. I got a busy signal and called 911. The entire state of CT is 911, unlike MA. In Springfield, it was 911, but in Deerfield, it wasn't.

My phone rang and it was Tammy. She was at the fire department when she heard the call. Luckily, the fire went out after I opened the door and turned off the stove. During Tammy's call, Barb and Dave flew over here. Obviously, they heard my smoke detector and my frantic call. That was very nice of them, and Tammy was grateful, too. Barb told Tammy she'd stay till the fire department came and would always come over if she knew something was going on here.

Dave said the place looked great.

Barb showed me a tray that had been in my oven since I moved in. I should've placed the steak on the top rack and let the grease fall into the tray.

So the fire people came and inspected, but it was under control at that time. One firefighter said the stove was ok and that the steak looked good. He goes, “It looks like a damn good barbecue steak. I'd heat it up and eat it.”

Yes, it was a very, very barbecued steak.

Another firefighter was the cable guy. He told me at the time he came to hook up my cable that he was a private detective and gave me his card. Also a volunteer firefighter. I called and told Dad, and he said you never close the door all the way when you're broiling.

I hope tomorrow I get Ma's package and Bob's letter.

4:25 PM

I got a wild letter from Bob but no package. Bob did warn me last night that it would be wild due to his state of mind at the time. It's pretty funny, but there's one part where he's wrong about me—where he said I must always want sex, but I don't, compared to the average person. Also, saying that I'd be willing to try whatever's at hand is not true, desperate or not. God only knows I'm the pickiest person alive. I wish I wasn't, though, because it'd be easier not to be so picky.

3/26/1992 Thursday 11 PM

At this point, I don't really have too much to say.

I spoke with Andy and told him how much I still can't stand it here. Mary Jane said she'd keep me in mind for the elderly project. I hope that they soon tear down the wall between the four-bedroom and one-bedroom apartments. I mean, if Barbara got a notice about it right before I moved in, how much longer can it be? Mary Jane didn't know. All she said was “in the future.” When I asked what would be done with the one-bedroom apartments and the people who live in them, she said they were going to be phased out. They were going to do away with them. Hey, great! They can phase me out. I'll help them tear down the walls. Other than Valleyhead and Brattleboro, I've never wanted to move so badly. But as Tammy said, they've got to place us somewhere after this is done. They can't just leave us on the streets in a snowbank.

I babysat today for Sarah and Becky while Tammy went to the doctor.

3/27/1992 Friday 8:21 PM

After giving my number out to several people, I figured sooner or later I'd get pranked. It wasn't your typical prank, however. I must back up a bit. About a week ago, I ended up talking to a very pretty woman at Price Rite. The conversation turned to a band. She said she knew people, so I gave her my number.

A few days ago, the girl—Laurie—called from her phone. I spoke to a guy named Lyle, who said he didn't have a phone but lived next door to Laurie. They both have two kids and live with them by themselves. Lyle explained that he isn’t in the band but helps set up equipment and get gigs. The guy who heads the band is Rick; he lives in Willimantic while the other three members live here in Norwich. I explained that I had no car and wanted to meet here, as I feel funny about jumping into a car with people I don't know. He said he understood, mentioning that they were all at a club that night, trying to get weekly gigs and he was going there. He asked if I wanted to go, and Laurie did too, but she was busy.

Then I mentioned where I live—he lives four doors down. Neat, huh? Laurie lives here too, and Barb knows them. Lyle came over and we talked for a while. I explained upfront about being anti-drugs and wanting to keep business separate from pleasure. He said he understood and no one in the group even smoked cigarettes. He said Rick was a quiet, friendly guy and that they worked together as mechanics and grew up together. Fine, I said, but I wanted to meet him here. He said he'd talk to Rick and give him my number.

A couple of days ago, he knocked on my door, but I didn't answer because I was too tired. I was awake but had only slept three hours. Then Barb called, saying Lyle was over at her place, and I spoke with him. I haven't spoken to him since, and I was going to stop by his place today, but he was out. I will go over tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I got a call from what I think was a teenage guy. One claimed to be 17 and another 14. There were three, four, or maybe five high school kids, I guess. They never stated my name, age, or address and even said they forgot my number, then remembered it. One guy said he was Lyle's cousin. He didn’t live here but knew Barb and a few others, and he knew that Lyle and Barb were at a bar—performing or not, I do not know. Were their band members there? I have no idea. They never acted pervertedly.

They asked my age, if I thought I was pretty, if I was married, who I was talking to, if I’d marry him. He said he knows 5–6 gay people, males and females, who listened to the edits, and were read mumbo-jumbo by me. We spoke a few times while he got several calls in between. I know there was no way they were next door. They don’t have call-waiting there, and with so many people and loud voices, I surely would have heard them. It was fun and brought back old-time fun since I can’t afford to get into trouble. I told them to call anytime and entertain my machine if I don’t answer.

Now, I have a shocking thing to tell and a nice thing. The shocker: I got a check in the mail for $30 from Brenda! How nice. For the stereo. She didn’t have to do that—I mean, she could’ve said, "What the fuck?" She bought me lots of stuff, and I’d forgotten all about it and figured she had too. It’s perfect timing as I have no money until the first. Here’s where it gets weird: I called to thank her, and I know it was she who answered. I told her I got the check, and she goes, "Did you?" Then the line went dead. I’m not sure whether it went dead or if she hung up. If she hung up, why? I tried calling back; it rang and rang and rang. Then all I got was a busy signal. I’ll try again tomorrow, and if I can’t reach her, I’ll write.

I also got a letter from Kim.

3/30/1992 Monday 12:25 AM

Tomorrow, I must go to the bank and cash my check and also to Price Rite. Also, call the doctor I saw and have him call in a refill for Theodur. Gather documents needed for an appointment on Tuesday with an intake worker for benefits. Gotta call Mary Jane and see what my rent's gonna be and still I must go to Thame's Plaza. I will ask the pharmacist at Genovese about Lactaid tablets and my bloating before my period. There's something called Pre-Sym and I want to ask him about it or call a GYN. When I get my medical cards, I'll follow through with my stomach and see a GYN and a dentist.