[Going through old stuff today. Time flys, huh?]
1/02/01
I killed someone today.
I know I sound heartless when I say that. To just come out and say that I took someone's life. If one didn't know any better, I could be the reincarnation of Albert Camus and this could be a story similar to 'The Stranger.' I digress though.
I will never have a day in court, or see the inside of a prison. Well, not the conventional prison anyway. My prison is the walls of my skull, in which my mind is forever trapped. No escape, only able to peer at the outside world and to never be a part of it.
Some would say that there is no reason for me to feel responsible for this killing. I was no where near her when she died. I wasn't the one who found her. It was not my finger prints that were on the gun.
Why, you ask, do I feel responsible then for her life ending? I suppose I could tell you. They say that confession is good for the soul, that it lightens the load you must bear. I believed that once upon a time, but I don't anymore. I will not tell you to alleviate my guilt, but rather to punish myself. Perhaps you will understand why when I am through.
I have never liked asking people 'how are you doing?' or 'are you all right?' It is not because I do not like listening to them. On the contrary, I love listening to people unburdening themselves. It makes them feel better, and I like nothing more than helping them. What I do not like is when, after telling me, they turn around and ask me the same questions. I've tried to share what's inside me before, and it just hasn't worked. I've done it with friends, colleagues, even a psychologist. All my fears and feelings seem so petty and insecure when they are said out loud. So I smile, through all the pain and sorrow, and tell them 'I'm fine,' or 'I couldn't be better.' When in reality, I'm dying inside.
That all changed when I met her though. She had this way about her. The power to get inside me, to surpass the barriers I had built to keep out the world. It's remarkable really, in that I've never seen nor known anyone who had her abilities in that department.
I can't really pinpoint the moment I fell in love with her. I suppose it was a gradual buildup over time. Another part of it was that I had spent such a long time denying my feelings for her. I know you are probably thinking why would anyone want to deny love? There are lots of reasons, really. Primarily it was because I was ashamed. Ashamed that someone like her could ever mean that much to me.
I suppose I could fall back on the reasoning of others. It's wrong to love her. I fail to see how love could ever be considered 'wrong.' What the hell do I know? Only that I am not worthy of her.
I spent a long time, a very long time, denying who I really was. Was it because I was afraid of what others would think? Probably. I rely too much on other's opinions of me, this I know. However, it is not a habit that is easily broken. I wish that I did not care at all, more often than I care to admit. That leads down another road that I know all too well. That is another story for another time.
It's funny how you can be surrounded by people and be lonely. Yet one person can bring infinite contentment. She was that person to me.
As odd as it will sound, I was perfectly happy having an unrequited love for this girl. I believe that unrequited love is one of the worst feelings in the world, right up there with feeling helpless. Yet it was easier to deal with than knowing the fact that she didn't love me back, for a variety of reasons.
Imagine my shock when I discovered that she did love me.
I found that out today.
She called and asked to meet me somewhere private, where we could talk. This was not uncommon or strange in any way. We would spend hours together just talking about anything, or nothing, in particular. If you are lucky, you will find a person in your life that you can open up to. To trust someone so completely. To know that they would never purposely hurt you in any way, shape or form.
I sometimes wonder what I am truly like. Contrary to belief, it is very easy to not be sure of who one is. I believe I have been pretending all my life. So much so, that I have no idea of who or what I am. When I was with her, my guard goes down and suddenly I don't have to pretend anymore. The real me shows through, if only for a short time. It's truly frightening.
Her eyes sparkled as always. Full of that inner light that I never thought could be extinguished.
"I have something to tell you," she said in a low tone.
Intrigued, I leaned in close to her so that she might tell me.
Instead of speaking to me, she kissed me. It was so soft and gentle and quick that for one brief moment, I wasn't even sure if it had happened at all.
All I could do was stare at her, wide eyed. The whole while trying to will my heart to start beating once again and reminding myself to breathe.
"I love you." She whispered so softly, it might have been mistaken for a prayer.
To say I was in shock would be an understatement. This wasn't a situation where I was in love and I was hoping against hope that she might find a way to love me back. I honestly never expected to here her utter those words. And to me, of all people.
I remember her stare, so expectant and hopeful that I might say those same words to her.
I could not, and I did not. As a result, I will pay for it for the rest of my miserable life.
The look on your face suggests confusion. If I loved her then why didn't I say so? I honestly couldn't tell you. Not because I don't want to, but rather that I don't know.
"I'm sorry," I had said. "I don't.....I'll never feel the same way about you." Every fiber of my being screamed the opposite of what I was saying.
I swear, even now, that I could hear her heart breaking as those words left my mouth.
And that is when I killed her.
She stood up slowly and stuttered an apology. She then took off and that was to be the last time I saw her alive.
Twelve hours past since that confrontation. That is when I got the phone call. It was from one of our mutual friends. I don't remember exactly which one it was. Things like that are trivial to me now.
She was dead. She had shot herself through the temple with a hand gun owned by her family.
In a way she was dead before the bullet ever entered her skull. I killed her soul long before that tiny metal projectile shattered bone and caused instant death to her body.
Everyone was shocked by this. There were none of the 'typical' warning signs. She didn't even leave a note, a clue as to why she took her own life. They will always wonder, just as I will always know the truth.
It's ironic, in a way. I had been planning on seeing her and telling her what I really felt. That I loved her with all my heart and soul, that I have never loved another as much as I did her. I would fall to my knees and beg her forgiveness. To let her know that I was scared, or stupid, or any number of other things, and that is why I had said what I said when she kissed me. I will never have the chance to amend my mistake.
I know how I must sound. Uncaring and cold to the fact that the girl I love is dead because of me. I guess that's true, in a way. Only because that when she died, she took with her my ability to care and to love. I was emotionally dead before she entered my life, and it seems only fitting that I return to that state now that she is gone.
Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets. Now that I have shared mine with you, I still feel lonely. She's still gone, and it's still my fault. What was the point then, you ask, of sharing this with you? I'll be damned if I know. Like I said, it's all trivial now.
Today, I killed someone.
