11 December, 1998
[As copied from the journal of one of my early girlfriends. Date is uncertain and may be off by a number of months.]
I WANT TO SCREAM! I need someone.
At the moment, I hate. I hate myself and what I've become. I hate Adrianah for hurting my Love, I hate that I can't make him happy or give him what he needs. I hate what I am about to do, I hate how much love will make a person accept. I hate coming home to sleep by myself and I hate his sleeping somewhere with her. I HATE MYSELF, and my stomach, and my fucking hormones. I hate that I am so horrible to my husband. I hate that I complain. I hate my ugliness, I hate that I'm putting Eric through all of this. I want to run away and let him have his happiness. I should have gone to Illinois when I had the chance, before I ruined his life...before I ruined our life. I feel changed, like I will never be the same. How could I? I am no longer what my Eric wants and I would gladly sacrifice myself for his happiness. I want to die and give him his freedom. If you trust him, Goddamn it, let him go. Let him have his fun... make him satisfied.
10 December, 1998
[As copied from the journal of one of my early girlfriends.]
If only he understood. How easy it is for him to hide it. Simply an avoidance of the topic. Myself...faced continuously with looks of conemnation or pit. He walks down the street and no one knows. Not one soul would ever suspect. His calm assurance and youthful appearance conceal his situation effectively. If I myself attempt this feat, I am met with the gazes of all who pass. Their eyes reveal their thoughts to me. Temptress, slut, impureness throughout. How presumptuous are the masses, how erroneous. Then there are those who "sympathize": poor thing, niave [sic] one. Neither do they understand. If we walk together, hand in hand, he is praised for his responsibility. After all, he was probably used, framed, perhaps just unlucky. I am accused of ruining his future. If only he could understand... I can bear no more shame.