September 2, 1982
It was the Second of September…ok enough of Ayn Rand’s obsession with the date…This entry is a “letter” not sent that I wrote to one of my school harassers and neighbors. She also used to show up at the restaurant I worked as recent as the late 1990s. I had a special hatred for her as she did something really nasty to me in 6th grade and I never forgave her plus her harassment continued. I don’t know if this was “homework’ from my therapist.
Here is a letter I write to Dinah Prick showing her how I am today, and how little that has really changed. I will write about my self-confidence, lack of friends, and my life in general. I will write this ‘letter’ tonight and it may be long. Good Day.
Prick of Course, not Dear Gilbert,
I haven’t seen you for a long time have I? Long time no see!! How’ve ya been? I’m sure you’ve missed me soooo much, just like everyone else. (at school). So I’ve changed, huh? What’s different, my bleached blonde hair? My X-tra boobs? (I don’t know, I really don’t know why I added that then.) Well, that’s all that’s changed, I can assure you of that. I’m still the same ME, the same girl who walked the halls with her head nearly touching the the ground and her glasses down her nose. I’m still that natural-born scapegoat that gets picked on by everybody and that holds her tail between her legs like a sick dog. The same soft wimpy sensitive gluk (the meaning escapes me) that won me such gluks like Carolyn Green and Beverly Lee. By the way, how is Carolyn doing? Does she still like that blue monster on Sesame Street, or has she graduated to Shaun Cassidy? Oh well, nuff said ’bout glucks. I bet you don’t know where I’ve been these past few months–the looney bin! You don’t say–but oh yes it’s true–I’ve spent three months, 1/4 of my “sweet sixteen” at Pretty Acres–the state institution. I also spent a week at Aven’s Acres. Where I found another bullied to death girl from my school but I digress. Well it all started as a suicide attempt in Feb., in which I ended up at Rose Garden Hospital for 2 days, and was transferred to Aven’s Acres where I ran away to the “valley” (Calif) and got caught and dragged back here to Hell, by the goddam pigs! No longer safe to curse God or the cops but I did in the diary. Only to be locked up for three months in Pretty Acres “That Dreaded Place”. Well after being there awhile I was able to go on pass with my parents and one day I decided why not run on pass? Well I did, and I trucked all the way to ‘Orleans and back. When I got back my parents decided to not have me locked up again, and to let me have a crack at living “on the outs’ again. Well Asshole Miller, a counselor at Pretty Acres said he thought I didn’t have much of a chance to get well on the outs, but he shook hands, wished me luck, and I was on the outs, scared, depressed, and sure of failure. Me, and my parents had a contract made which I have to follow (which I’ve broken a couple times) that has 12 things on it! The agreement is that both parties have to keep the contract or if one breaks it, the other party can break it too. Ex. If I run away (breaking the contract) my parents can stick me back at Pretty Acres if they please. Oh well, now I’ve got a job (which is in the contract) and I work days since I am also a high-school dropout. (Never again will I walk those halls alone and afraid.) I plan to get my GED mind you. Now, Dinah, dearest friend, you see I am one beset with many problems, and the one thing I’d like to to is tell the whole world to kiss my ass. I’m angry and jealous of everything and everybody, and I’m bitter as hell. These are the burdens of an old woman not for a young girl. So, Dinah, why don’t you kiss my ass, and all your fuckin’ friends too, and bow down and pay tribute to poor long-suffering ME? Why not. I deserve it!
September 4, 1982
I just have nothing to write about tonight, but I will write about something. As I’ve said in earlier entries, I fantasize a lot, and I am guilty about it. The reason I fantasize is to escape the hell I’m living in. When I don’t escape or fantasize I tend to do even crazier things, because the hell gets to me. What i need is another way to escape from this hell that isn’t so damaging. But is fantasizing dangerous? It might be in the sense that it prevents one from growing up and seeing the world as it really is. G’nite
September 5, 1982
I have nothing to talk about, except that I don’t want to go to work tomorrow because I will work with some of the kids I used to go to school with. And I am scared. I did nothing whatsoever to prepare myself for this. I just kicked back today. Oh well I guess I can pack it since I talk to my therapist on tues. I will HAVE to give my goat a present to-morrow. He deserves it. Like I said I have nothing to talk about tonight. I’m really mad that they made me work on a holiday like this without even asking me. That’s bad stuff. G’nite.
September 6, 1982
I was better tonight. I watched 2 1/2 hours worth of movie tonight. Sometimes I doubt you. I prayed to you not get upset over any kid who picked on me yet I was so upset I took 2 Stelazine and totally spaced out. I need all the help you can give. Is this a punishement for fantasizing about Milquetoast since I promised not to? Please give me a second chance not to fantasize, for I must not get upset over my co-workers. G’nite.
September 7, 1982
I lack something to write exept PLEASE stop punishing me oh Dear God. I’ve really tried today. I’ll talk about my project tomorrow. G’nite
1999 note: Jobs haven’t changed–I am still treated as a 10th-class citizen, only given “easy” tasks, and generally nitpicked to death, while my co-workers get away with murder. 7/99
2007 note: PERPED onto the DOLE and now being m/c to death
September 8, 1982
I will talk about what my boss said tonight. He first said that a lot of the bosses were complaining that i was arguing with what they said. I was. John says I have to follow what the bosses say and not argue. I disagree. The bosses are sticking me as a 10th class employee and are always sticking me with things like bussing tables and taking names as if I were brand new. They think I’m no good, and I’m just trying to fight against it. Well I’ve given up my fighting does no good. More tomorrow. G’nite
September 10, 1982
Goodness, what a tough day! First a terrible fight with my mother, getting fired from my job, now a car accident my dear. I really don’t believe I”m still around tonight. It must have been all all that Stelazine I took. Well Dad will see what happened about the job, but I think that they were just looking for an excuse to fire me anyway. That makes me mad. I think they should have at least given me advance warning that I was to be terminated. It’s a cruel world. G’nite
September 11, 1982
I forgot what I was going to write about Dear God. I’m really feeling low and hopeless now, and all I want to do is sit around an feel sorry for myself. Why did I lose my job? Why did I run away? Why? The car accident and my parents saved me from 1. getting too far, 2. getting locked up. For with my history–well I dunno it would have to be totally up to my parents whether I got locked up or not. Maybe not. G’nite
September 12, 1982
To promote creativity, here is a writing of sorts. I have finally reached the black tunnel. I cannot see the light from which I came in any more, only the vacuum of darkness which is to be my life forever more. Deeper and deeper I go until the blackness is filled with seething horrors and a hell-like fire of resentment which burns slowly eating flesh and bone. And, when I finally die, an ash in the back of the tunnel amongst other ashes like me. No one will come to reach me and lift me up for I am too far in.
I wrote that when I was SIXTEEN. Had I been to Hell? This was depression over a JOB! What on Earth led me to write that??? On my old blog I wrote I wondered if I was already dead and this was Hell since I could not get out of my problems. Something WEIRD had taken ahold of me there.
Dear God, (also September 12)
Is this to be my life? or will my therapist be albe to get me out of this hell. After all, she is only a person. Can I trust her and find comfort in toe one thought that one day one month one year, I will be much better and will be out of the tunnel into at least a partial light that I can see and live by? Can I put hope in my therapist? Can I hope? Am I allowed this pleasure?
September 13, 1982
I don’t have anything to say tonight ‘cept I”m scared of pigs, And I hope, I can get my JOB back. I hope I don’t have any nightmares G’nite
September 14, 1982 (whew)
My therapist has sort of an interesting view on interpretation. It’s neat. It’s not just one way or another. I will not fantasize. G’nite
September 15, 1982
Well it was my fault that I lost the job. For many reasons, too. They in fact were only looking for an excuse to fire me. (Wasn’t that every job? As I recall it was hard getting hired there, too. I think my father actually had to come in to speak to the hiring manager or something after my interview. I lasted an entire 2 weeks. This restaurant is now out of business in my town.) and what an opportune time it was, I was caught lying! They might have kept me on if I hadn’t turned them off. This is depressing me all night. Oh, Beth (boss???) how I wish I could venge on you, but I realize (I guess) it is my own responsibility. Oh well. So much for Posh Pies. Too bad. G’nite
September 17, 1982
I’ve got nothing to write Dear God. Well I went to Sambo’s today (now defunt restaurant chain with racist name)and he (who?) gave me a long interview. He says he’s been in the restaurant business for 13 years. One thing that disturbed me is how he hires his employees (3 to 4 interviews for a crummy waitress job) and his drink gimmick. If you don’t specify you want a small drink you autimatically (my 1982 spelling)bring a large. He also calls his waitresses salespeople which makes Sambos seem like a big rip-off joint. I know all of this is in the name of business, but getting back to the interviews HOW COULD anyone come up with a good reason why they would want a lousy min. wage job except they are plumb broke? Lots of bullshitting to get that job. P.S. Busting ass for minimum wage ain’t that hot. PPPPP.s there is STILL ONE SAMBOS IN CALIFORNIA…..The year I worked there all the other ones went out of business then changed to Seasons Restaurant or Denny’s.
September 18, 1982
remember?–this is the poem from “that dreaded place”—Rootey toot toot, Rootey toot toot, were the kids from the institute. We’re not crazy we’re just lazy..what’s our slogan?? Fuck Pretty Acres! I’m sure You remember when I wrote up at Star Valley Ranch that I was sick and belonged in a hospital but I didn’t want to go? (those entries must be lost.) Well it’s true. I could benefit from 24-hour babysitting, but I don’t want to go. Y’know? I could have gotten well at That Dreaded Place only if I had been accepted by those foul-mouthed sick kids. (most of them dumped from the juvenile justice system using the hospital to escape jail. Only a handful of the kids there were actual head cases (or were they?) If I felt I belonged, I would have had an incentive to get well and I would have been out of there right now. Oh well. Maybe it’s best I’m out after all, I got You and my therapist to help me. I will get well out here. I have to. It’s about time. Well here’s a pager. G’nite
September 19, 1982
Feel Yukky tonight. Christian Militia slaughter hundreds of Palestinians and Israel is blamed.–Got into a fight at Carbones, it ruined the whole evening. Tomorrow I see my therapist. Can’t think of anything else I’m too mixed up. G’niteGe
September 21, 1982
U.S. Marines sent into Lebanon to preserve the peace. Donahue is being sued for 10 million! I’m feeling not so good. I got pushy with the guy at Denny’s and he got rude! Might as well write off this page. I’m still hurt over being fired by Posh Pies. I know it’s my fault, so that’s why it hurts so much. I will wear my headgear tonight. I’ve been neglecting that. I’ve got an appointment on Thurs. tomorrow I get up at 6:30, so I think I’ll turn in G’nite
September 22, 1982
Yeeeech, That’s one sucky evening. Why? You know I need control. Don’t desert me now. I even took my Stelazine. Please. Gaynor??? is in critical condition. She’ll probably die. Gemayel’s brother is the new pres. of Lebanon. Morant was given a life sentence. Parole in 20 years. Who else? I dunno! I tried out for some more jobs today. Boy do I hate it! To-morrow is the TD Steak House. I don’t want to go to bed because I get scared about Pretty Acres. But I’ll try not to think! Maybe I’ll go back to writing about one thing a night! G’nite
September 23, 1982
First Day of Fall. Pretty Good, eh? Oh well, no biggie: Let’s see if I can make it to winter and beyond. I saw An Officer and a Gentleman tonight. I really enjoyed it. What trauma those poor cadets have to go through! It was incredible. I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t handle a pack of crummy kids from that Dreaded Place. I often wonder what they have in them. Leadership qualities? Probably. They learn to take all that crap from that N—– without it getting to them! That’s hard!!! Also physically, it’s very hard. That obstacle course looked like murder! Oh well so much for that movie. G’nite
September 25, 1982
I feel weeeird tonight I sure stayed up late! To make up for last night I suppose. Since I need another Stelazine at 11:00, no wonder I feel batty! Real out of it. Oh well, bed for me now. G’nite
September 27, 1982
Crappy day! At least I prayed some in shul. It’s the Jewish High Holy Days. What a crappy year this has been!
September 29, 1982
Another job. Big deal. Another job that I’ll eventually lose because of my personal problems. Why should I smile? Why should I hope? No reason to. I was reading through some of my older entries and I found a poem. Well, here’s another one.
Another quick move and alas,
Another crummy job!
Another interview, another uniform
and don’t forget,
Another “new beginning”.
One more time (paid)
Two more meanies to contend with and
Three more x-tra pounds since the last job.
I got one more thing though a single miniscule drop in my huge bucket. G’nite
September 30, 1982
Y-A-W-N, I gotta go to bed! G’nite