Dear Nobody (11 page)

Dear Nobody,

I am so happy right now. I am
in love.
Geoff makes me so happy—I smile and don't even know it. My heart beats and skips when I think of him. My stomach rises and falls whenever I see him. My legs weaken and my breath leaves when I speak to him. He makes my beauty even more beautiful—my spirit even more spiritual.

This feeling is MUCH MORE than just a feeling. He has put his entrancing spell of fascination on me. He creates even brighter and better dreams for me than the ones I thought before were so vibrant and big. I am lost in an indulgence of ecstatic joy and virtual bliss. Reality has no effect on me—he has become the only object of my reality.

And the sex is getting better. I wouldn't say he is a “sex god” or anything—but he IS improving. Last night, we did it on my mom's couch. He kept saying, “No, I don't want to,” but I talked him into it. He finished after like fifteen-seconds. I told him next time it would have to be longer—or I wouldn't let him use my phone to call his mom for a ride home.

The next morning my mom came into the living room, wakes me up bitching and asking why my underwear's on the floor and the back door is open? What a HYPOCRITE! It's not like I haven't heard her and Joe doing it before. Like mother—like daughter.

Dear Nobody,

Geoff and I are finally getting good at this whole “sex thing.” Sex is so exhilarating! Who knew? Every time is like the most spectacular feeling! It pushes me in and out of consciousness, taking me at first to new galaxies; then dimensions—until I feel like I'm in TOTAL OBLIVION! Not like a void—but in a place where my elation is so prominent it becomes even more tangible than the physical aspects.

I think the key to evolution is in sex.

I can become anything or anyone during it.

And it's not even the sex that dumbfounds me—it's the orgasm part. It's like my body was made with a built-in pharmacy between my legs. During sex, I am higher, more vulnerable, more excited, nervous and more relaxed—than any chemical drug has ever made me. During sex an indescribable rush happens to me and elation takes me—I am under its control. It pushes me to a level of consciousness that could easily be mistaken for unconsciousness. It enslaves my mind and body. It feels like I am in a trance that will confuse me later; but I'm so emotionally and physically expedited that I don't care WHY I feel it—I just care THAT I feel it. It's like a misty, fragile sort of depiction.

Human words could not describe the places I have visited.

I feel like me and Geoff are the only two people ever to visit this universe we created—and since we created it as one—we become the only organism in this new universe.

Dear Nobody,

I've been getting really sick again; probably because of all the drinking. I was forced to go back to school. Almost none of the kids there know I'm sick. So I just stomp around school, looking like a fucking rag.

Since getting sick again, I've become one of the palest people there—and I have black hair now, so I kind of stand-out next to those pretty, blonde, tall cheerleaders. I'm not as tall as everyone else and I'm only ninety-seven pounds right now. My legs and hips have been hurting like hell lately, too—so I slouch and limp a little when I walk.

I've been getting this loud, chronic cough lately—and everyone turns to look, and roll their eyes, and say a lot of stupid shit about me. Yesterday, I was standing in the lobby at school and started having this nasty coughing spell. Sometimes when I'm at school I just try to swallow that vile shit I cough up—or hold it in my mouth until I get to a bathroom. But by then I'm REALLY sick—the taste is awful!

I really didn't care what the people standing there thought—I just walked in between this big group of jocks standing by the trash and spit this big-ass wad of green, bloody, chunky phlegm in the trash can. They all cringed—and told me how “attractive” and “ladylike” I was, and some other shit I'm trying to forget. Since like third grade certain people have called me “Germ” for doing shit like that. Now if I'm at school (and I don't care who is around) I just spit on the floor. They thought I was repulsive before? I'll SHOW them repulsive. Mucus doesn't (besides the taste) gross me out. I mean shit, how could it? My body is practically made of the stuff.

Sometimes, I wonder if they would say these awful things if they knew it was because
I'M SICK?

Probably.

It wouldn't matter to those assholes.

Dear Nobody,

Tonight it's Christmas Eve—I'm running around the house wrestling with my sister, we even danced for a while and I was singing almost all night. It was great! Then I chased her through the kitchen and into the living room. On my way into the living room I jumped over the couch and flipped—so I was hanging from it upside down. I was making faces at her—and then I started coughing.

I thought it was mucus. So I yelled for Nicole to get me some Kleenex to spit into. There was tissue paper lying right there on the floor from a gift I opened earlier, so Nicole handed me that. I spit into it; it didn't taste like normal mucus. I looked in the tissue paper to see if it was a different color. And it was—bright red. Pure blood. No mucus even. Just blood. All of the sudden—just like that. And my chest didn't even hurt. I started to scream—not from fear or anything like that, but from anger. Just ANGER! I'd never spit up pure blood before. It didn't scare me or hurt me or anything.
It pissed me off.

I mean, here I was on Christmas Eve, having so much fun that I hadn't had for the longest time, and then something like that happens. Something to remind me that my fun won't last and that it only gets worse from here. Why? What did I ever do? Why am I spitting bright red blood up, in mouthfuls, from my poor lungs? While my eight-year-old sister watches me and my mom runs into the room?

I'm so young, I'm too young for this shit, but I feel like I'm getting too old for it, too.

I was in the hospital for three days and when I finally got out, before I left, the doctor told me that when I was first admitted—he thought I was going to die. So for Christmas I got something special that none of the other kids in my neighborhood got—and it came gift-wrapped in tissue paper.

Dear Nobody,

I went to see my doctor and guess what? My lung function was 108%! That's like a normal set of lungs! My doctor couldn't believe it—neither could anyone—to have your lungs go from working only 30 percent then up to 108% is VERY unlikely. It gave me kind of an invincible, immortal feeling—I had forgotten what it was like to walk more than twenty feet without losing my breath. Like, “Yeah! See everyone? Not even chronic illness and lung disease can stop me!”

But then, on the weekend, I slipped up really bad.

All I'm going to say is that I was really not concerned with my health at the time.
And when I do something like this, when I slip up, no one understands how I could do it.

Well, the only explanation I can think of is that after I've been feeling so healthy and normal, I kind of stop worrying about my health—because I start to have that invincible-like complex. And believe me, I thank God for it every day; but every time I destroy my health, it seems I get it back.

But now, because of this weekend I just had, my breath is a little shorter, my mucus is dark green to brown and a lot thicker. And now I've got this chest pain that keeps getting worse and worse, and this pain in my hip. My mom is calling the doctor again…