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Holy shit

I decided to clean up, no organize, my room, or, at least, sort through some of the boxes with the papers and journals and poems that I’ve been keeping since I was nine.

My once clean room:

Now looks like this:

I found some interesting items and a ton of memories, some, not so pleasant memories.

Well, I did find a pile(s) of paper in folder(s) of some “book(s)” I was writing when I waaaaay younger. There are about 3 ideas, all from 3 different ages.

The 1st “book” idea I came across, I must have written when I was about 11 or 12, it is all about, when my brother and I were younger. I was 11, my brother was 9 and we moved from Monroe NJ to Kingwood NJ: I tried scanning what I have typed on college lined 3 hole punched notebook paper, and I even tried taking a close up picture of it, but it didn’t work out very well….

Here’s an excerpt:
PAGE 1:“My brother and I were going through the same fears about going to a new school. Who would hang out with us? Who would we sit next to on the bus? Who would we eat lunch with? What should we ware on the first day of school? As the days and nights drew closer to the first day of school, my brother and I began to talk, I so needed him to understand the way I felt. My brother not only understood, but listened to me, with his whole heart. That gave me a certain sense of reassurance. In the midst of all these fears and anxieties, our rooms were being decorated as well. It was nice to know that eventually, our rooms would look normal, instead of the dungeon like resemblance they had now. But, there was also something nerve racking, in the process of getting from point A to point B. What if we were disturbing the dead people who roamed our house? My step father filled out heads with the insane thoughts of lost spirits being trapped. I really want interested, at this point in my life, with fucking with the dead. There was nothing that could be done though, to soothe these thoughts from my mind. Between school and the dead people I was feeling on the brink of a serious emotional strain. Not even the love of my brother could make any less of those feelings. I spent days on the phone with friends back at my old house, but that only seemed to make matters worse. They would all be starting school together soon, finding out who was going to be in whose class, with what friends. I only began to feel more alone. END OF PAGE 1

There is like 33, yes 33, typed pages… (it’s writen in a child’s voice, because I was a CHILD when I wrote it, and I do remember the MOVE and that HOUSE (possibly possesed) and the NEW SCHOOL all being so horrible for me, it landed me in the Carrier Foundation mental institute, on Lithium by age 12)hmm… another book another time

Then I found an outline? I think? Of when I was on road trip number two cross country, which I am soooo glad I found an OUTLINE? because the journals are very faded, dirty, raggedy, old, been through hell, mostly illegible due to the drug / alcohol consumption at that particular point my life… but it breaks down ages 16 and 17, when I hitch hiked cross country, ran away from home, its in a form of almost a dated time line, of where I was and when and with who. There is even a key, a “de-coder” if you will, of the nicknames I used in my journals to identify the real person I was writing about properly. I must have done that when I was 17, RIGHT when I retuned home to NJ and it was fresh in my head.

And, then, I found, what is over 250 pages, of my high school years, in a private, reform, semi-military, mostly cult like, boarding school. Including the parent handbook of rules, and the student handbook of rules, which, what a surprise, are very different!

Plus, there are the OTHER years beinf used for my bok, which are all in journals now tossed all over my house.

Needless to say, I have a million ideas, a million things I have been trying to say for years to a million people, apparently.

Only thing is, I know WHAT I want to write, I just don’t know HOW to write… thank you internet, with your multitude of tools to study, learn, create… in the meantime, I have more sorting, piling, organizing, and cleaning this mess up!!

Oh god, and tomorrow is my damn birthday…

PS… I ate a “meal” crackers w/ jelly which only made me sick with diarrhea, so no, I am not better, but I ate and I didn’t have the PAIN)

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  • Anonymous

    Everything about this is troubling.

    This double entendre comes to mind….

    Oh Meleah, I sure do hope you find, whatever it is you’re lookin for…..

    – here’s a nice peice of shit!

    Feel better, and add a chapter to your rough draft book…maybe working on it will help you!

    You’re biggest fan.

  • meleah rebeccah

    um okay, good idea i suppose, i plan on writing my “book” again, when i get my new computer, (less to transfer) or maybe an excuse to procrastinate? who knows…

    i wasnt “looking” for anything, i wanted to ORGANIZE, when i discovered all thoes OLD poems/letters/writing, which, brought UP old feelings, ect..

    feeling better-ish

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