Saving Grace

Permanent

09/12

22:09

I've gotten a lot of comments on my blog today about you guys wanting to know the secrets. So sorry about the wait. But I had my last day of work. Which I know isn't very interesting. But I'm going to write about it anyway because if I die, people will want to know about what I was like. So this blog will show them.

The thought of people reading this after I'm dead is a weird thought. But an oddly pleasant one. Because even though I can't live forever, I might be able to create something that will.

But anyway, back to the matter at hand; my job. I worked in retail and it sucked. I had one of the worst managers ever and my coworkers were all really annoying and manipulative. Like this older lady. For the sake of her privacy, we'll call her Tammy. She was really sweet, but she constantly was able to get out of doing work since she's over fifty. Which I suppose is reasonable. But it still sucked. And then there was this girl who hurt her leg and totally milked it. Like we're talking milking it like it was a cow. It was ridiculous. Especially since everyone's seen her walk on it just fine. She just uses it as an excuse. Not that it's my place to judge. After all, I do use the mental illness card a bit...

Well, anyway, back to the dirt. One of the most obvious secrets is that this girl, who we will call Dany, is a slut. Like a major slut. Now, I'm not trying to shame her for her sexual activities. Because it's her body. But she loves sex so much that she's cheated on her boyfriend, my ex-friend, at least three times. At one time, I would have told him. But since he called me a psycho bitch, I'm not going to bother.

That probably makes me a bad person. After all, someone who knows and does nothing is as bad as the person doing it, right? Wrong. Way wrong. I'm not the one who cheated on my boyfriend. And let's be real here. Would you really tell him if he called you a psycho bitch? If you answered yes, you're a much better person than I. Because I am petty. And I admit it. So there.

Well, there's one secret. I'll tell you more later on.

09/15

18:17

Sorry for not writing yesterday. I didn't want to. Frankly, I didn't want to do much of anything. I barely managed to make myself go to school. But I'm glad I did. Because it meant that I got to talk to Mr. Wesley. And anymore, I go to school just to have our talks.

He's a really intelligent man and even though he's a dick, he cares about his students a lot. Today we talked about books and I found out that he likes John Steinbeck. I didn't peg him for the type, but he told me that he loves Grapes of Wrath.

Our conversation went something like this:

"Grace. What book are you reading now?"

"1984 by George Orwell. Why?"

"You just always seem to have a different book with you. Though for a while it was Dracula. Tough read?"

I laughed and shook my head. "Not at all, Mr. Wesley. I love Dracula so much that I just read it slowly to make sure I get the full experience."

"Ah. That's me with Grapes of Wrath."

"Ew. Steinbeck? Really?"

He looked at me and shook his head. "We can't speak anymore. I can't believe you don't like Steinbeck!"

"I just don't like his style very much is all," I said defensively. This made him snort.

"How about this, Mr. Wesley. If you read George Orwell's books. I'll reread Steinbeck."

"Fine, Grace. But you better not lead me astray..."

"I wouldn't dream of it..."

Honestly, he's the best teacher ever. We talk about everything. Especially books. It's kind of weird for a math teacher to be such a big book nerd. But it's nice to have someone to discuss books with. One day I hope to be able to share my own writing with him.

Sorry about that. I doubt you really care about my relationship with my teacher. And again, it's not a sexual relationship. At all. I just really admire him. He's like the father I've never had.

Well, I suppose I should share another secret. And that secret is that there's a teacher who we will call Ms. Baker. And she's sleeping with one of her students. I guess not all students think it's weird to sleep with their teachers.

For a while, I was scared of telling that secret. But since I might not be around in a few months, why not tell you all? I hope she gets arrested, honestly. She's an adult and she should know better than to sleep with her students who aren't old enough to give informed consent. It's just sick and wrong.

Well, there you go. Have fun figuring out who Ms. Baker is. I'm signing off.

09/16

21:30

I'm going to share a poem with you called "I wonder if he knows"

I wonder if he knows

That I can see through him

He has eyes that I think hold the entire sadness of the world in them

And shoulders that bear a burden he shouldn't have

I wonder if he knows

That I know what he's thinking

He has hair that's pushed down from his hours of combing through it with his hands

And legs that have grown strong from his running to forget

I wonder if he knows

That I've been where he is

He has lips that are caught in a frown that he can't shake

And hands that clench into fists too quickly for his liking

I wonder if he knows

That he's strong

He has a heart so big that I worry that it will break

And knees that shake too often with his urge to escape

I wonder if he knows

That he'll be okay

The boy with sad eyes

Will be okay

I wonder if he knows

09/17

16:44

I've gotten a lot of questions about who the poem was about. But honestly, that's too personal. So just know that it's someone I used to know. I think he's long gone though. But he knows who he is. So if I decide to go through with killing myself, he'll know the poem was about him. The him he used to be.

I wonder if he was ever the boy I first met or if it was just a façade. Maybe he was just pretending like I was pretending that I was normal. Who can be sure? Not me. I guess I'm kind of sad that we're strangers. I have a poem about that. But I'll save it for later.

Sorry again for my babbling. According to the page, I average like 1,000 views a day. Is my blog really that interesting? Thankfully I haven't heard people talking about it at school. It hasn't become that famous yet. Maybe after I die it'll become famous.

I guess I should share another secret. This one is almost as juicy as the teacher who has sex with her students. You know Pastor Roades? Well, I know for a fact that he keeps about half of the donations.

I wonder if hell exists for people like that. You know. The people who claim to be holy, but who smear the religious face instead. That's one thing about me, I guess. I've never pretended to be holier than thou. I know that I'm not virtuous. So maybe when I die, I won't go to hell. Though supposedly suicide is a sin. So I'm not sure...

09/21

21:00

I want to die. It's a feeling that's deep in my bones. It's so intense right now that I can hardly breathe. It's like I'm suffocating. Like I'm drowning. And honestly, I wish I was. I wish I was dying. Because here's the thing about people; they're so much more compassionate when you're physically ill. When you're mentally ill, they think you're faking it. But honestly, I think mental illness is worse. Because it's your own brain that's making you do these things.

God. I want to kill myself right now. Screw the deal I made. I can already imagine how easy it would be to slit my wrists or to swallow the pain pills I own. Dying is so simple. It's living that's complicated.