justnick's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Yet another crisis in the middle of the night somehow all my crises seem to happen at three a.m. You can wake someone up at that point once or twice, but more than once every ten days or so and you're pushing it. "I have something to tell you" she says. "I have to talk to you." I know that tone of voice. It's the tone that leads to tears and pain and worse. It's the tone with just the barest hint of chaos in it. Just enough to be frightening. There's a storm in that girl, and not many people in this world know how to deal with it. Certainly not her family. So what do I do? I ditch the friends I'm with to run to her. I offer them some lame excuse, offering up family as the sacrificial lamb, and speed to her side to see what's wrong. I was having fun, too. "It's very serious, I don't want you to think I'm not because I'm drunk" she says. I take her at her word. "I can't say it. I feel like I'm going to start laughing because it's so hard to say." If you know me, you know who I'm talking about. And if you know me well enough, you know where my head went there. I told myself to slow down and went through a thousand and one possible reactions, testing them all. See which one would go over well in posterity. It wasn't that. She had a family crisis of sorts. All kinda of emotion, and I'm trying to help her sort through it. She's bad with emotion. I'm feeling selfish and idiotic for thinking her problem had anything to do with me. I'm also feeling a little let down. She's trying not to cry and trying not to scream. I try to hug her but she doesn't want to be touched. She lets me, but that's all it is. She doesn't want to be comforted. She wants rage and pain and screaming. She wants me around to make sure she doesn't go too far. She's very, very drunk. She's dangerous when she's this kind of drunk. I want to tell her she isn't allowed to be hurting, or be frightening, because so many people love her. Because I love her. I try to make her laugh instead. She's feeling violent. She stares me in the eyes as she describes what she wants to do to the person that caused her pain. I stare at her right back and she smiles because she thinks I don't understand. I understand. There are two guys sitting at the table with her she hardly knows who won't go away. They're trying to be alpha males and scare me off. I want to get away from them, but she's reveling in the attention. I don't want to leave her alone in this condition, but she's going back to her apartment, and that guy is going with her, to crash on her couch. There's nothing I can do. I feel bad I couldn't help more. I feel angry I ditched my friends to watch her take some guy home. On my way out of the bar, a man dressed in a purple suit, grabs me, hugs me close, and clutches a talisman around his neck. "Your life force burns so bright it is blinding, but so quietly it is all but silent." Any other day I would have found it strange and frightening. Now I just felt like it was something else to witness. Something else to be recorded. I hail a taxi. When I get home I want to call someone. I want to call Nicole. I want to call my sister. But I obviously can't call Nicole. And I called my sister at three am two nights ago, during the previous crisis. When I was feeling lonely and rejected and under appreciated and selfish for entirely different reasons. My sister is as unbalanced as any of the rest of us, it's true. My whole family, myself included, certainly has issues. But she can always manage to make me feel like my issues are justified. And like I haven't done anything that can't either be celebrated or forgiven. But I'm lonely. And like every other member of my generation, I'm lovesick and neurotic. And I have nothing left to say. Excelsior. 3:22 a.m. - 2007-06-29 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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