it's not over; hell, it's just beginning

(dear reader: i am sorry to make this blog so depressing. but i need it. i have no other way. writing by hand takes too long and i cannot keep dumping this shit on my poetry class. i don't know what to do. it isn't over. i'm sorry.)

I wish I could write my way out of this.
I wish I could block out a weekend and feel the entirety at my convenience.
I wish I didn’t feel the need to keep them all on the list.
the nine (now ten) (maybe eleven or twelve or a baker’s dozen)
people who cannot die.
that’s your only job.

of course it was his only job too.
just stay the fuck alive.
for our sakes.

yup, grief is selfish like that.
I grieve you because of the pain you have caused me
and my friends
by leaving our lives.
and yes, I grieve your life.
I grieve the children you will not hold or photograph.
I grieve the cars you will not buy and refurbish.
I grieve the kitty who sleeps in a strange house.
I grieve these parts of your life.

but I also grieve
for the nephew or niece being born
I wonder and worry about the effects this will have on them
to be six months old in the womb
and have your mother struck by this terrible, terrible blow
will you be born bitter?
will you always have a sadness about you?
will they know it came from your uncle micah?
will they tell you the story of how he was abused, how his legs were burnt,
how he, too, suffered insufferable loss?
or will you just know it in your bones?
will you be a quiet child?
you will look like him.
I can already picture your angelic photos.
they haunt me like his.
they are his.
I am sorry for you, tiny unborn person.
sorry for the grief your mama has taken in
sorry we couldn’t shield you even in the womb
from the sorrow of existence.

just checking in

dear universe -
we haven't talked in awhile.
so just FYI, i still fucking hate you.

you are a fucker.
sarah

timeless

there are lists that should never exist. i should not have these contingency plans. i should not know what i'll do in the event of catastrophe, and my actions should not be ranked according to the importance of the victim. if someone from circle A dies, i have a plan for that. or circle B. the circles widen outward. how long can we maintain this tension? how long can we keep doing this? how long will we keep holding our breath this time, if two years isn't long enough? i'd literally JUST relaxed my grip. we all know this. and now, nothing. i can't. i realized this morning i wrote "litany" on the train yesterday, on the one month anniversary. it really doesn't feel like a month. i realized the other day, i associate the word "timeless" with sadness, partly because i associate it with this feeling. to me, timelessness is to exist outside of time, and one exists outside of time when it's a crisis. i've been in crisis mode for a month now, and you know what? it could've been a week, for all i knew. the dates move on the calendar but i remain, confused. i associate "timeless" with hospital waits. with the car on the way to a funeral. with the plane ride. with the worst week of my life. with the nights when who you sleep next to doesn't matter as long as it's a warm body. "timeless" is not a word for jewels and art. it is a word for the strangely numb protracted ripping feeling.

i haven't been bothering to write. what's to write about? my depression? my overwhelming sadness? (the two are distinct.) oh, and the emptiness. i feel empty, too. so many emotions to cram in for someone who claims exhaustion. my friends and i have reached the point where we have nothing to say to each other but we stay on the phone anyway. we need the connection. but the emptiness . . . it's a drifting endless feeling that i need to end. i need for it to stop. i need to feel less hollow. but what is there to fill this space in my life? a terrible fear, that's what. well, i'd rather hold the fear at bay by remaining empty then, if it's all the same to you. because it's untenable, it's unfaceable, this unreal reality that my life has become. this is such a strange journey. it just gets weirder. and yes, i am feeling sadness, but it is an exquisite, tempered sadness. my grief is more measured this time. at least, right now. i haven't let go yet. i can feel the screams though. i am scared for them to fade and scared for them to get out so i clutch them to me. they're there.

and to distract myself? the same thing i've always used, just in a different way this time. the obsession over it rather than a concrete act - is there really any difference? and aren't yall tired of it? i know i am. i'm tired of myself, tired of my own antics, my own crutches. mostly just tired of human charades. my mentors are leaving and flying to pieces, i'm not sure which relationships to salvage, i'm worried about my future. the more i learn the less i want to know. the more i look the less i can turn away from the train wreck of existence. argh. this is what happens when i try to write stream of consciousness. i feel cranky.

litany

for sarah grace archibald:
upon the death of our third friend in four years
before either of us had turned twenty

I’m crying because I’m leaving my sister
I’m crying because my sister doesn’t live near me anymore
I’m crying because I want to make my plane
I’m crying because I don’t want to leave
and yes, I’m crying because one of my lovers is dead
yes I am crying for my friends
yes I am crying because shitty things happen to people
every day and there’s nothing I can do about it
I’m crying because I always wanted to be a mom and now I don’t know how I can do that
what if I’m so terrified something will happen to one of them that I never let them live

I’m crying because I never, ever want you to know
what this feeling is
I am crying because I know it is
universal and
intensely personal and
I hate it anyway.
I’m crying because this time I
can’t say, can’t believe, that
“this will never happen again”
I’m crying because I’m terrified.

I am so scared. not only for you
I am terrified on behalf of my friends
terrified of the thoughts that stalk us
terrified because we ask who’s next
and because we don’t know the answer but we suspect there is one
I’m terrified because my best friend and I made a list
of the 9 people who simply cannot die
if our family is to function
and there are some people who aren’t on it.
I’m terrified because death is stalking us and keeps getting closer and closer
and next time what if
I’m terrified of what if

don’t ask me why I’m crying.

it would take me hours to tell you.

writing you out of my body

i still write about you. less and less now, but you're still there. especially in times like this. especially since i dreamt of you. i can't forget.

just today i wished for you. just today i thought so long and so hard about you, i half expected my phone to ring, just because you always know. just today i craved you. i told myself cruel truths about you to curb the impulse. i've never done justice to the enormousness of our relationship, which i suppose is a testament in and of itself. i'm sorry. i'm sorry for you and for us and a little bit for myself.

i can't forget you because you spent a night with one hand, your right, resting between my thighs, the way one does when it's cold out and you're trying to warm up your fingers. not demanding or expecting anything - i was suspicious. at one point you did squeeze my leg and tug it tighter to you, but then nothing. i realize you were only half-conscious (unlike me). this was probably the most comfort either of us has ever given the other.

the day we found out angelica died you and i had sex, on your bed, covers not even pulled down, still mostly clothed. i was wearing a black lacy tank top my parents gave me for valentine's day, i think it was that same year. they gave the same shirt to emily. (since then they've mostly given us socks.)

the day we found out david died you went incommunicado for a couple of hours. you wouldn't answer our calls and we didn't know where you were in cruces. you promised to come up as soon as possible - by then you knew you were leaving school anyway.

i've told the story of how you called me that night many times. it still stands out as one of the moments in which you were kindest to me. i never thanked you properly. i don't even know if you know that's the only way i slept that night. it was the most alone i've ever felt and you helped me get through it and you might not know even that.

and. and then. you were the one who told me about jonathan's death. i'm not sure how that fits, but it does. i'm not sure what now, what next.

i really really thought you were gone for good this time. honest. but here you are back again. and i don't know what to make of it. i was young and stupid when i said i wanted you in my life for years to come. but now, five years later, you're still here. WTF?

(you're my johnny, you know. the way sarah feels is the way i imagine i'd feel if something happened to you. you were always one we suspected might fall victim to something - you don't sleep, your driving is atrocious, you're all kinds of emotionally fucked up. and still i loved you. and still i think you are beautiful. mana says you are sorry for what you did to me. i am thankful. she may just be applying salve to my ego, bless her heart. or it may just be years before you figure out what she already knows. i hope i'm not around to find out.)

i'm trying to write you out of my body. trying so hard to write you out of my life. if i write you down enough, if i lay you out in 2-D, will you stick? can i shut you in a notebook and leave you there? please?

you make me ache.

hopelessness

happy snow day to everyone it affected. thank goodness no one was really traveling today. thank god gerard left early and mike made it here (and then went to work, silly fucker) and mana made it and now shares my bad-weather-travel pain.

i have no money. last night was the first real night of sleep i've had and i wasn't even in my own bed (the heat wouldn't stay on in my room so i slept on the couch like a guest. like kyle, who also stayed here). i'm not eating properly. my body hurts. and this is all normal.

i'm too scattered to write. i'm trying to get it out, to write this out of my consciousness, and it won't go.

* * *

it feels weird being in contact with all the people i tried to leave behind. it is weird to think about adam and tim and JB. the first thing i said when i walked into the brown house wednesday night was, i said i'd never do this again.

i thought i'd never be in contact with them again. i'd kicked everyone out of my phone. the people i maintained contact with are the people i want in my life, and now everyone else is back.

there is a long list of terrible things that have come to light in the past two weeks. i mean serious, life-altering things. seven of them, to be in exact. and none of them are all known by anyone but me, because there are secrets involved.

when did we become statistics? i know too many people who have been raped, too many people who have been in abusive relationships, too many dead kids. i never thought we would be the kind of people who became statistics. i know too many secrets, too many confidentialities, too many things kept hidden. the other night i looked around the table at the atomic. it was JB, tina, mana, sean, sarah, gerard and me, and i thought "i know something no one else knows about everyone at the table, except maybe gerard and tina."

* * *

today i tried something novel: functioning. not too challenging because i didn't leave the house. i don't really know normalcy except as a memory. i did a lousy job.

i hate everything. i'm in a bad mood. i loathe it all.

still haven't heard from bobby.
haven't emailed con law teacher.
i suck.
we ALL need tons of therapy.
i keep thinking, i'm not supposed to be here. i'm supposed to be in philadelphia with homeless people. damnit.

* * *

like i keep saying, i never thought we would be the kind of people who are hopeless. but we're staring hopelessness in the face.

we keep repeating, we don't have the luxury of saying or thinking or believing this will never happen again. three dead kids in four years, all within 8 days of each other, all happened on a monday or a sunday. that's too much of a pattern. this is a sick state of mind, to be finding patterns in friends' deaths. when you plot a line, you start with two points and plot a third in the middle to check your work, much like march 4 and feb 24 and feb 27 in between them.

the two worst words in the english language are: who's next? and we can't stop thinking that.

this trip home was a wake-up call for many of us, even those of us who were already here. (and i do wonder about them, adam and tim and co., what it's like to see us come and go.) all of us are wondering what we're doing with our lives. all of us are thinking about what we love vs our obligations because the two rarely intersect. sarah keeps saying life is short, do what you want.

i have avoided anything philosophical or deep or reflective for a long time. and now it's slapping me in the face. i don't love where i am right now. i don't love most of the people at my school. this is not where i want to be, but i keep thinking i must get a college degree. just get a degree, sarah, then go nuts. then do what tina did. then go abroad. anything. but get the degree first, you must have it. if i leave now i won't go back.

what forces are at work in the universe? how do we face them? how can we possibly NOT think terrible things? "the universe is unfolding as it should." my ASS. fuck you, universe!

we are all so, so scared. terrified. for everyone. it keeps getting closer. what if next time it's too close to survive? i still feel like everyone is suffering more than me, that they deserve and earned more pain by being closer to him. that's fucked up too, and i know it, and i can't not think it.

these past two weeks i've been too fucked up to think straight. it's affected everything from my perspective on an acquaintence's military service to my advice on a friend's ex.

if i died, would random strangers try to comfort those who grieved me with, "she died doing something she loved"? (when people say that about johnny, i think, so did david.)

bring the pain

my body is sore. stress-sore, like i'm about to get those full-blown pains i get along my collarbone and shoulders. my hands are tingling. i am alone in my dorm room. less than 36 hours and i crash and burn into santa, both good and bad.

but before that, two things:
1) first time in prison (nope, not the name of my forthcoming primere adult release)
2) con law midterm (which i plan on failing horrendously)
(these two thoughts, along with thoughts about bobby, are good distractions.)

today i went to a child's birthday party. he clapped every time people clapped on the CD that was playing. he was angelic and perfect. rich parents talked about applications for obscenely expensive private preschools that feed into the right prep schools.

children still clap, sarah. you yourself drank wine today and rode the subway. people still eat pussy pops - vagina shaped chocolates, for the unintiated. little sarah and i were talking about how numb we feel. mana and i too. it hasn't hit us. we are still talking in the present tense. like he's here. everytime mana listed who she wants to see while home both of us had to bite our tongues to stop his name from coming out.

it had better hit. my current theory is, when i am in the brown house where i never expected to go again, hugging JB who i never expected to touch again, seeing phil and morgan and people i never expected to see again, it will hit.

but little sarah still has a deep-down awful feeling all the time. and really, so do i. i'm flashing back to telling thomas how i hope he never has to go through something like this, and how it was true. even completely numb, even so unfeeling it scares me, this still manages to hurt more than i'd ever imagined. if you've never experienced it i sincerely feel you don't, at least not for a very long time.

the most terrible words in the english language right now are: who's next?

our way of checking in with people now goes like this: how are you, life still sucking? yeah me too. okay, glad we cleared that up. carry on.

my sense of humor has gotten very, very morbid.

i'm in a hole. someone build me a fucking ladder.

i can't reread. i want to, but i can't reread tim's blog post or JB's email (he sent out a fucking email . . . he felt it was necessary to send out a fucking email), or anything else, even though i know it's there. i'm pretending. god wednesday is going to suck so very hard.

i still do not trust the universe. everyone be safe.

unpredictable

mana's coming! woohoo! and in her words, we totally pulled a good cop/bad cop on a certain senator wall. i got to be bad cop.

something cute: maria clearing her throat before a sign language exercise.

something true: i just don't trust the universe right now.

i scared my spanish teacher when the only thing i piped up in class with was the correct conjugation of "they died."

i want to pierce my lip. lower off to the right. a small ring. i'll bite it all the time.

in light of this week i want a memorial tattoo. i need to incorporate both boys. i am open to suggestions on design, placement, etc, everything.

word of the day: im·pe·cu·ni·ous adj. Lacking money; penniless. See Synonyms at poor

before i forget i must give a shout-out to mana i've been meaning to give since i read this line. but i MUST say thank you for this:
"I love you for everything you are, even that which i am unfamiliar with."
the girl is a damn genius.

more letters:

dear little sister -
i never, ever wish this for you. please do not say you feel bad because you don't know what i'm going through; i don't WANT you to know what i'm going through. if there was anything i could do to keep you safe from this, i would. if my grief staves off your own somehow, then it is worth it. because this sucks so very hard, babe. i know i'm your big sister and you want to do everything i do, but trust me, you need to feel your own grief about this, not mine. please don't worry about me. i'll come through this because i have to.

i worry that this is making you question. the universe is still a good place. i hope. i'm not very trustful right now; i don't have a lot of faith. you always had more than me. i don't want you to lose faith. yes, my friends and i have been through a lot. and all of it has strengthened our ties to each other; it has given us perspective. these are poor excuses but they are the explanations i need in this unfair world. i'm sorry it's all i can offer you, dear. i can't tell you i turn to god, or that i know why this happened, or that this happened because i hang out with people who are more likely to die. i don't KNOW why this happens, but it has and we have to deal with it. i'm sorry you have to deal with it too, sorry i brought you in to this by making you hang out with my friends. if i'd known you'd be helping them grieve and acting as a surrogate me and feeling so in-over-your-head i might have chosen differently. but i have faith in you; i chose the right deputy.

i love you. don't worry about me. take care of yourself. your big sister is coming home soon to lead the way. love you so much, babe.

thank you for writing what you wrote; it was very powerful. it reduced us all to tears. it is also a scathing indictment of a god who would do this to us. you said it more eloquently than i can.

love, your big sister

ps thank you for calling me every day. thank you for asking if there's anyone i'd like you to check in on. thank you thank you so much. i'm sorry i have to lean on you, but i have to, and you're the only best friend i have who's heart isn't being ripped out *quite* as badly as mine right now.


universe -
let me get this straight. i had a friend die junior year, 2002, who was 16. car accident. then in 2003 an 18 year old friend died, different kind of accident. now, in 2005, a 20 year old friend dies, skiing accident. all the death anniversaries fall within ONE WEEK. one calendar week. feb 24, march 3, and now feb 27 right in between them.

i'm noticing a pattern. when 22 rolls around, everything better be copacetic, fucker.

i can't even comment on how unspeakably fucked up that is.

i won't even mention how you took first one of tim's best friends, and then the other. two years apart. or how you took tina's mother freshmen year of high school, then three of her very best friends in succession.

i hate you.

(and PS i hate trying to reassure my little sister this earth is still a good place to live and cursing it with the same breath. but i don't know what else to do. i want her to have the faith i lack.)

home

home home home i want to be HOME NOW PLEASE.

mana and i agree: this is the most emotional tension we've held for an extended period of time in our lives. this is the hardest emotional test we've ever encountered.

there is nothing coherent about grief. i feel like this is the most surprising part. yes, you are a Grieving Person (sometimes people won't let you forget), and you are numb, but you are still yourself. and you want to clutch desperately at normalcy, or what you think normalcy is. and whatever your usual coping methods are, grief will amplify them. so you find yourself filing at work and trying not to cry. or you find yourself biting your nails over the tension at a student auction, then stop and wonder what the hell you're thinking. you still want to kiss your favorite boys. your dreams will surprise you. there just is nothing uniform or normal or consistent about it. it's the strangest emotional state i've ever experienced.

i'm scared. there are two potential extremes: i will go completely numb in this limbo week and not be able to come back. i will be a numb dead thing while people cry on me. i will withdraw, because i do not want my grief to be public; i want to hoard it for myself and the person it belongs to. the tension of this week will break me in a different way and take away my emotions. i will feel nothing and i might not heal.

option two: i will be a wreck. i will fall apart. i will cry like it is the last time i'll have strength for tears. i will play these keys like a piano and write write write out my grieving thoughts even though no one will probably read them.

this week i keep thinking, this is the hardest thing i've ever done. followed by, don't be so dramatic. what's hard about it? just sit on your arse and don't think until you fly home.

then i remember: i have to manage not to fly apart at the seams, fly in all directions. oh, right. i'll be sitting in class and about to cry at some completely insignificant word or phrase someone's uttered and think, nope, i haven't lost any of those feelings. they're definitely still there. the fact that i sound more powerful reading gwendolyn brooks aloud than i ever have, the emotion in my voice - how did it get there? - reassures me, i am still human, i still feel. the tears will come. it will hit. i won't have trouble unlocking it.

and honestly, i'd rather have it be option two. option one is a terrifying loss of humanity. i need to break it open and get it out. i need to learn from last time.

like i told ed: it'll suck when it hits. but life sucks now anyway. it might as well suck in the service of something, like clawing my way back to reality.

i would never wish this on anyone. i never want anyone to feel this way. emily was saying how she doesn't know how this feels, and was talking about how our parents and her shouldn't talk about it like they know what it's like. i said good. i don't want you to know what this is like or how it feels. your job is just to be there for us, okay? i DON'T WANT you to approximate this. ever. if i could write a spell or a poem strong enough to prevent that, you bet your ass i would.

headshots

you do not immediately realize that this is the best picture ever taken of the girl. all that is visible is her round face, against a blank wall behind her head. it is black and white and she is smiling. her hair is curling perfectly, swayed by a convincing breeze. her eyes are squeezed by laughter and fat, her eyebrows uneven. you realize her tongue is sticking out and curled up, blending in with her colorless lips. she might have been laughing before this was snapped - the smile and tongue are not forced. there is no hint of dishonesty in her face, and you could muse that she has had a good life.

you cannot see that the wall is actually light brown stucco, or that she is outside on a blazingly clear spring day. her photographer, who must have talent to let youth and beauty do all the work, is much taller than her short, round frame and must bend to three-quarters of his height to capture her face without angles. other kids are gathered, waiting turns and making jokes so the reluctant girl will smile. she has protested that pictures of her are always awful and seems determined to prove it until someone tells the right joke, and she finally relinquishes a genuine smile. the photo is snapped and forgotten by all, except the girl, who will eventually learn two things: her photographer will not live to see his 21st birthday, and she would never have a photo that serenely, effortlessly perfect ever again.

when i come home

Tuesday - March 8
Arrive 10:12 pm Albuquerque, NM

Sunday - March 27
Depart 06:40 am Albuquerque, NM
Arrive 04:20 pm New York, NY

blogger roll call!

okay, here is a centralized list of all the blogs i'm reading, so everyone can read and cry with me:

mana: http://manabutt.blogspot.com/
emily/ylime/little pepin: http://maybemobywillstopby.blogspot.com/
gerard: http://theguyyouknow.blogspot.com/liljess: http://longlivetheabsurd.blogspot.com/ (she hasn't written anything yet)

even ed (http://www.livejournal.com/users/jukar42/) wrote something.

and here are two myspace links, though mana and jess and i must warn you, the myspace account is difficult to handle (and the links are not reliable): http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=5904654&blogID=16447004&Mytoken=20050228163710
or http://www.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewProfile&friendID=5904654&Mytoken=20050228164113

or just open a myspace account and do a friend search, type in jonathan reeves and you'll find him.

but all of this will just make you cry.

more

"Life sucks, get a fuckin' helmet!" - Jonathan Micah Reeves, myspace quotation

for small griefs you shout, but for big griefs you whisper or say nothing.
the big griefs must be borne alone, inside.
hal borland

and one more time just because:
Honor the brave who fought,
Honor the dead who fell,
Honor the world they saved.

* * * * *

okay, i am now teary.

not much new to report. numb hours pass. i haven't eaten a real meal in almost 36 hours, i've just had tons of sugar, but shockingly no caffeine except a cup of black tea. and i slept 4 hours and napped a half hour. i am neither tired nor hungry, but wired. the body is a strange animal.

mana and i want to be home so badly we can both feel it. there is a physical ache in my body like none i have ever known. this next week til i fly might just be one of the hardest of my life. i know yall are reading but if someone wants to drop me a comment, i'd really feel much better. don't know why, i'm just obsessing over the blog right now. need something to focus on.

right now i am holding in the anger for fear of exploding. but trust me, it is there. and it is dangerous. and i can feel it and i am frightened. i know that i am very, very strong. i worry about misdirecting that energy or not knowing how to direct it at all. part of me will be angry at him, and that could be dangerous too.

but when i need to remember why i am angry, i will remember what i told ed:
do you know what that kid came through? in a nutshell, he survived abuse, third degree burns on most of his legs as a freshmen in high school, his father's total rejection of him and absence from his life, alcoholism, and the death of his best friend. but he fucking survived. not to mention the cosmic coincidence involved. i mean, look at a calendar - david and angelica were exactly a week apart and now he falls squarely between them. it's horrendous.

it's offensive to my sense of . . . everything.

* * * * *

writing from earlier today:

i will be okay. whatever malicious forces there are in the universe that are testing my family this way, they're not getting the best of me. tonight i'm buying a plane ticket for next tuesday. don't know how i'm going to stick it out another week, but this week i have classes and such to distract me and this weekend my wife is coming down from boston. she flies out of LGA sunday night and i follow on tuesday. so if i can get to friday i will be okay, or at least with someone who understands completely.

also, ylime is acting as my minion, thank god. she's my eyes right now and checking in on the people i'm really worried about in santa. [everyone's invited to my house some night for food and hanging out, just to be in a different space, you all knew that already, yes? good. it's silly to keep inviting you home when you're family anyway.]

dear whoever or whatever is doing this fucked up shit to me and my friends -
still fucking hate you. you fucker. fuck you.

dear weather -
snowing right now is a-okay. snowing a week from now, not okay. please please please please please do not storm sunday or tuesday of next week. my wife and i need to get home for a funeral and some mourning. everyone i talk to wants me home. i want me home. ditto my wife. please please please behave and let us fly home - we promise not to enjoy it, we're just going so we can cry with people we love instead of by ourselves. please. i have never wanted to be anywhere so badly as i want to be in santa fe right now. every time i talk to someone about coming home or make plans for it, i cry. i am crying now. please let me get there safely - my extended family can't handle anymore. please.