Day One

Today was hard. March 8th, 2013.

I awoke for the first time and

there was no hope in my life

anymore. I rolled over, and

touched my phone's screen, and

your picture burned brightly into

the still-dark room. And for the

first time, looking at it with

burning salty eyes from crying

through my sleep, I felt the

weight of reality. "I don't love

you... You aren't the girl for

me... not ever...." The words

echoed in my head and my heart

constricted so painfully I had to

close my eyes and remember how to

breathe. I wanted to cry again,

but my body was sending signals

that I'd tortured it enough. I

was parched, weak, and throbbing

in pain. My legs trembled when I

tried to stand up and by the time

I reached my dresser, I was

panting for breath.
Pitiful, really.
But I couldn't change reality. I

couldn't bring you back if I

tried with all my might. For I

had already tried, you see, for

exactly 60 days. From January

13th when you ran away into the

darkness, for 60 excruciating

days I cried and prayed and

chased you and prayed some more

and wrote you and called you and

texted and I tried with all my

might to bring you back.
And the result was that you sat

across from me and yelled at me

when I called you mine, and

refused to even hug me goodbye.

You hate me, and nothing you will

ever say will ever change that

truth. You deliberately chose to

break my heart. And it's so

broken.
I felt numb all day. Numb, dead,

like something run over and cast

aside on the edge of the road to

die on its own. You left me and

you made sure you wouldn't be

around to watch the suffering end

as I died. You up and ran like

the coward your new wonderful

friends have made you to be.
Numb, whimpering, weak. I felt I

wouldn't make it through the day

without keeling over and faiting

but I did. It was easier because

my parents were right there

beside me. I am not alone yet.

No, that will come tomorrow.

Tomorrow I will watch them drive

off campus and I will be all

alone, abandoned in this world. I

do not know if I will live

through tomorrow night.
But today we went to Barnes&Noble

and I cried because I remembered

the summer with you there. The

kisses in the car. The journal

you bought me there. Looking at

maps of Ukraine and Washington.

Looking through books of LInex

and publishing. I found my way to

the classics and picked up a work

of Shakespeare. I couldn't afford

it, but I wanted it so badly.

Unlinke you, I was never

prividledged enough to study his

works. I only longed to know what

you know. I thought about the

festival in the park coming up,

and wondered if you would be

going. Maybe, since you seemed to

have so much more energy and

passion now with your new

friends, you would ask off work

and go. I wanted so badly to go

with you last year. Another

dream, gone with the wind,

burried in the planes of my

distorted miserable excuse of a

heart.
The teen section boasted a new

nonfiction novel: Regine's Book,

The Last Words of a Teen Girl. Of

course the title gripped me. I

carried it to a chair and spent

two hours reading the whole dang

thing. It made me cry and cry and

cry. In 2008 Regine died in

Norway at 17 years old of

MDS/AML. Basically, she had

leukemia and cancer. The book is

the published version of her blog

that she kept as soon as she was

diagnosed. It was joined with

excerpts of her mom's journals

and other records and some of

Regine's photography efforts.

What gripped me was the fact she

was not saved. They did not

believe in heaven. Even to the

very end. She said, "The fear of

not existing never leaves me."

She feared death, because she had

no hope afterwards. She was so

young. I wish that I could die.

Would it change you? If you heard

that I was in a terrible wreck

and in the hospital with hours to

live? would you come? Would you

even care? If I were diagnosed

with cancer? If I had months to

live, would you come back? Would

you abandon your ridiculous quest

to find yourself and leave your

shallow stupid friends and come

back to live out the rest of my

short life with me? Would you

hold me like you once did, and

pray with me like you once did,

and love me like you once did? Or

would you not even care....

Worse, would you pretend to care

but not care enough to come

back.... I wish that God would

take my life. Maybe it would be

the factor needed to change you.

to help you find yourself. To

help you come back. Maybe you

would regret this semester, this

person you've become, this

walking away and leaving me all

alone, so alone. I have never

felt so alone, even when Andrea

left me.
It probably won't happen. But it

is my prayer. That God would do

anything to bring you back, even

if it meant trading long years of

my life for short ones. It would

be worth the trade if it meant

that I had you.
But it probably won't happen. But

I am willing to do anything to

bring you back. To feel you hold

me close against you, to feel

your heat through my clothes, to

smell your scent, to hear and

feel your heart beat, to dissolve

in your strength, feel your

breath on my hair and neck as you

bury your head against me, and

hear your voice say "My Noelle, I

love you." I would die if it

meant I could live that one more

time.
How many times did I live it and

take it for granted?? Too many.

Not at first... I remember that

very first hug, clinging to your

for dear life, knowing deep

inside that nothing lasts and

wanting that hug, that comfort,

that feeling of home to last

forever, refusing to pull back

and let it go. But I stepped back

and looked at you like you asked,

and forever disappeared. I should

have never ever let go of that

first hug. I should have quit

Bible school righ tthen and there

and ran away with you and gotten

married. I should have.
I read Regine's Book and it gave

me something to think about. What

would it be like if I were dead

in a year? We never know the

future. Maybe a disease is eating

away at me already. Maybe that is

why my heart hurts so strangely

at times, lurching in my chest

and constricting me so I can't

breathe. Maybe my days are much

fewer than I think. Maybe I only

have these few days left.
If that were true, if I only had

this next year, I would want you

to go back and have something to

read about each day. I don't know

when you would find the time or

if you would ever find the desire

to get through a blog like that,

but I would want that gift for

you. So you could see the

struggle I face each day, and you

could know that through the pain

and aloneness of this

abandonment, I still loved you.
Because I have no hope left.
But I love you still.