Diary of a Resurrection (A Novella) by Amanda Day Read Free Book Online

so
needy.
    Artists are
such hard work.
    Never give
one hundred percent of yourself to someone, it gives them too much power.
    I can’t
imagine finding anyone better than Pan.
    I might as
well stick with what I’ve got.
    Letting
someone in is painful because they will fuck you over in the end.
    I’m
fucking bored of this.
    You’re a
very special person to me.
    Round and round they went until I thought I was going
insane. They popped up when I was in the bath, when I was cooking dinner,
mid-conversation with other people. They, like you, had no respect and just
showed up unannounced to hurt me over and over. It was during this time I was convinced
I would never feel better. The ache in my stomach would never subside and I would
never be free of you. I was worried that not only was I cracking up, but that I
would never be OK again. I was worried I would never think like a normal person
again or have thoughts that were not completely absorbed by you. I was afraid I
had lost me. I was the most unfocused I ever remember being. I couldn’t
concentrate on a single thing. My mum had to tell college and Pizza Planet that
I had glandular fever to buy me some time out of my life.
    In the past, when I have had troubles, I have always used art
to feel better. I have drawn and painted and sketched my way to a better place,
but this time I couldn’t do it. Even looking at my paints made me squint. It
hurt my mind to contemplate colour. I wanted to live in a soft cushioned world
of black and white with nothing to assault my senses because I just wasn’t
strong enough. I needed to be wrapped in pure white cotton wool and put in a
dark room for a while.
    In the really bad moments, and there were many, I would text
you. I missed you so much I could barely breathe. At its worst, all I wanted
was a single text from you. Just one word. Like a hit of heroin for a junkie, I
craved it with every cell in my body. I thought that if just one single text from
you beeped into my phone it would save me. It would release all the tension I
had inside and make everything better. Every ounce of pain I was going through
was your fault, but I was willing to overlook it because I just wanted you
back. I hated the void you had left in my life. I tried reaching out to you because
I wanted to hear your voice or read your words. I wanted to see a bold unread
text from you on my phone more than anything else. I checked it constantly,
obsessively even, worried that I might miss it beeping and in that moment miss
you. If you reached out to me, I didn’t want to miss it. I wouldn’t risk it. I
was almost glued to that phone. I sent you messages like, I miss you. I miss your voice. Are you OK? Are you
alive? Can we talk? This is killing me. I just want you, nothing else. Just
you. Please forgive me.
    It must have been obvious to you that I was suffering, but
all you gave me in return was silence. An empty phone can say so much, and be
really, really hurtful. I knew my messages to you must have sounded desperate,
and they were. I guess they must have added weight to your opinion that I was
needy, but I didn’t care. I just missed you so damn much I would have done
anything, literally anything, to have you back in my life and my phone. Beeping
in my pocket, laughing in my ear.
    But all I got was silence.
    I was so lonely I could almost feel your absence on my skin.

The First Rung Of The Ladder…
     
    I spent hours wondering why. It went
in yet another loop in my head: What. When. Why. I spent hours trying to figure
it all out. I wanted to pinpoint the exact moment it all went wrong to see if I
could have stopped it. Was it a look? A word? A kiss? Could I have made a
difference or was it really as simple as you just get bored easy, like you
said? I wish you had told me that at the start, it would have saved me an awful
lot of trouble.
    I also spent some time wondering why Pan? Why doesn’t she
get the silent treatment? Why aren’t you bored of her too? Then I