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14 October 2008
I can hardly believe my eyes, or myself. Everything is changing so rapidly that I can no longer manage the curves.
When I moved in here, a little over a year ago, I moved into a place that I felt was wonderful. It was covered in Virginia Creeper; plants and vines and trees were everywhere. I felt like I was safe, hidden from the world.
When I moved in here, I had a porch, and hung beautiful wind chimes and mobius strips everywhere. The sound was gorgeous and nearly moved me to tears sometimes.
When I moved in here, there were mostly dead businesses surrounding me; again, a sort of safe cave.
When I moved in here, I had a ready-made friend I had already met, and we were fast friends without taking a lot of time to get there.
In just over a year, the vines and most of the trees out front are gone; the porch has been torn down, and there is no place out front to hang my windchimes; and suddenly businesses have popped up and are thriving. On weekends especially, there are people a-plenty, walking in the street, talking and yelling to one another; and my friend is not allowed to speak to me.
It is no longer my neighborhood.
It is no longer my home.
I have lost my friend.
I sit and cry like a child, lost and alone.
They wanted me here, because I pay my rent on time (mostly) and because I stay put. But they changed all the rules. I wanted the place I moved into. I did not want this ugly shell of a building I see now. I want the wild place with the vines and the wildflowers and the trees that made me happy.
That place is gone, replaced by an urban nightmare.
I want to move. NOW. But I can’t. Where’s the money? Where’s the landlord who will allow 11 cats? Where’s the hands-off landlord who will stand up for me and doesn’t mind me decorating his place?
Every day, I think of killing myself. Every day, I plan it. Every day, I wait until the few things I have left to do are done.
I must update my will. I want that black cat tattoo on my upper arm. And I want to go roller skating, just one more time.
That is all I care about, with one exception: I need to place the cats. I am not yet done with that. So I need to talk to people to see if I can find someone good to take a cat or two before I can go.
I want to go. There is nothing left for me here. I have done much, seen much, felt much; I am done. I don’t belong in this world; it is unkind and not a place I can call home.
The world just keeps getting nastier and I keep crying out that I want so much to give, to love; but there are no answers to my pleas.
I have lost hope.
Everyone says “But think about your cats! Even if you do find places for them, no one will ever love them like you do!” Maybe not; but they will be loved. They have felt and known love, and they will have it again from someone or other that I know will love them.
I had six of them in bed with me last night, all curled up in various configurations. I smiled and told each of them how very deeply I love them. They know, and they will always know.
If only it had happened for me.
I took a cab home last week, and the driver gave me his number and asked for mine. Today, he calls to tell me he thinks he’s in a depression and is smoking too much herb and drinking too much beer, so he really needs to get himself together and not do the rebound thing.
Thanks a lot. Thanks a whole lot.
All I could do is laugh and cry at the same time. I suppose anybody that says “Yeah, Corona – it’s the shit!” is, um, a wee bit young for me anyway. But it still hurts. Not as much as my ugly, desolate home being ravaged to nothing, but it hurts.
