Monday, 23rd of Neverwhen
I felt the buzzing in my head like flies dying from the inside out. I reached up to grab my ears and found soft black hair there, coursing down my head like it belonged there. What the hell was this? Changed again? Where did this regeneration power come from? I wasn't special. Hell I wasn't even normal. So what gave? All these questions and the answers were never coming. Why bother with what I knew when what I didn't know could fill volumes. At least that's how it played out to me. That's how I heard it. That voice, that grating bullshit voice I always heard when I set pen to paper or set foot out of my door with a new dress on. The one that said I wasn't going to see a better day than now to do it. To just let myself go and let everything slip away... But you see, I'm not crazy.
I know I'm not crazy. I never have been. I'm as peachy as pie and everyone I know can vouch for it. My mother, who drinks water like she'll run out yesterday. My father, whose entire life savings was spent on a coin collection from 1292. My sister, who was married and then wasn't and then was and then went dyke for a week or two. My twin brothers, both of whom are on the cusp of different and fucked up, just like I am... But they blend better. Me, I'm your average everyday Jane who can't stand the sunlight, loves the rain and wishes the ice would come inside the house instead of languishing on the sidewalk. I'm the girl who can't eat ice cream because it reminds her too much of her tongue being frozen to a fucking light pole. I'm the girl who never believed in Santa, Satan or Steven Sondheim because I just couldn't make their existence real to myself.
But my point is this one. Who gets to push those buttons over your head? The ones marked 'sane' and 'batshit.' Who gets to play Sweden in that arms race? Some would say the government, some would say family, but I know the truth. I DO. I'm the one who says whether I stay or go down that mad rabbit's hole and come out in Indonesia. Nobody tells my crazy which way to turn but me. And we all know that nutzoid is a relative term anyways. No one cares, Jenny. No one will know, Jenny. No one will ever see that bruise, Jenny... Lies are like peanut butter. Spread them thin enough and no one will care about mopping it up. And the longer we wait for Prince Charming with a broom handle, the longer our peanut butter has time to curdle. Why doesn't anyone see that jelly on the floor will attract more rabbits?
I wasn't supposed to hear it. I was supposed to be in my room, rotting away with my radio and my portable love life. I wasn't supposed to hear the word "Committed" or "Psycho ward." I wasn't supposed to hear how they want to mix my peanut butter AND my jelly and take away my goddamn pet rabbit. And all for what? A year of silence? I'd given them that. That and longer of nothing but the sound of scissor blades sliding together and paste drying. What the fuck else did they feel like mopping up for me? This mess they call "nice girl" isn't anything I want to relate to. I want to be me. I want to be Jenny Bunnyface Genevieve. That's all I've ever wanted. Just to be my usual sloppy perfection and call it a day. I can never have what I want apparently. Just because Mommy used to slip me her pretty pills to keep my mouth shut longer or that Daddy cared more about his coins than how many children his Missus popped out, all that made me not me. All that made me was a mold and I don't release spores! I wanted out of the hole house and into the moonlit rain. I wanted in. In forever with the bad guys and wind tunnels. I WANTED FREEDOM.
Tomorrow they're sticking me in a car with a velvet roof. Apparently velvet's better for digestion. They tell me my sleep will improve. How can you improve on insomnia? There's nothing better than that. I want out of this moving circles already...
Wednesday, 24th of Not Gonna Be.
The long white hauler comes loudly into my sleeping space and looks me up and down. I want to throw ice cream at them. To make my bunny dance for them, but somehow, nothing comes. I lie in my worst dress, just sober enough to make sane look good and they come. They come anyway and make me take more of Mommy's wonder drug. They say they'll make me believe. It's okay, Jenny. Come with us, Jenny. Your family's waiting, Jenny. I can't make them bring me back to the house of Neverwas. I can't make them realize that I've already concluded my heartbreak from afar. I don't need them, damn it. I can mop peanut butter on my own. I have a broom for gosh's sakes. I am ME. I don't want to be Bunnyface Left At Home... Why can't I just mop my own cleaning surface? I don't need the help. I want to be helping, not helped.
Daddy takes my arm and kisses the last bruise there. He tells me it's okay, baby, the nice men want to take you dancing. Don't they know I have two right feet? Mommy's got her hazy make-up on today. She must really be making an effort to look like she belongs to the outside world. She got her hair messed up for money again. There's bows in it. Ew. Bunnies hate bows. She should have stuck to buttons. I can't see anyone else. Apparently hearing what you're not supposed to glean has its price. It makes for rough non-conversation as they roll you uptown to get yourself messed around.
I've been ME since I was five. Why now? At fourteen years later, why make me like every other random cog in a wheel house? I want to be ME again. Mommy's pills, Daddy's kisses... None of that is ME. Bunnyface. That's ME. Bunnyface. Jenny B Good. I want to go back to my cocoon of abnormality so badly... This is...Why am I fading into white gray?
Thursday, 25th of Ju--Been. No. June is right.
Ever since we got to the Home, I've been feeling less and less like myself. The meds they handed me are strong. I want to palm them, but for reasons unknown even to me, I take them. They make this coherence last. Was I fooling myself into thinking that maybe I should have stayed a little girl forever? Was it me who was insane or was it me becoming a product of a whole home full of broken people? My therapist tells me my parents are coming to see me. I ask why I can't see my siblings and she just shakes her head at me. They can't have all been figments, can they?
Home or not, this place is nice. Meds at 5 o'clock. Lights out at 10 o'clock. It's like they live for structuring unstructured people. Is this what they get paid to do? Make people like me have rules so they can go home and break their own programming? I suppose it's better not to ask. I've been asking myself questions for fourteen years and now that the answers have stopped evading me, I want to take advantage of it. Maybe I should see Mommy and Daddy today. Maybe they've brought me kisses and hugs to keep.
Friday, 26th of June. Aftermaths are easy. It's the storm that's rough.
I can' believe I threw my father down the stairs. He made me. They wanted us to talk and with me, Mommy and Daddy never talked. That wasn't what they were for. Daddy was the one who ignored everything and Mommy paid too much attention to me. That's what they were for, not talking. Daddy saw my bruise getting better and he kissed it, so I hauled him up out of the chair and pushed him out of the door and down two short flights of white tile stairs. He wasn't harmed... Just stunned. I stunned my Daddy. I got an emotional response out of an out of sight, out of mind man. Perhaps I should just live out the rest of my emotional life here. It seems this place has a handle on Bunnyface. A better handle than my pill swilling, incestuous mother. Whatever possessed me to love these people? Even looking at them as fucked up as I was, I know I had contempt for them. So why feel ashamed to love them now? Probably because, after all that, I don't have to see them if I don't want to. Not ever. Not again. My therapist says they cause outbursts... If only she knew what those broken doll people have caused me since I was a little bunny. But, I told the Doctor to have me paged the next time they came over. Sadomasochism has always been interesting to me, so now that I'm clear of mind, I'll give it a shot.
Sunday, Sometime in July. I've lost count.
They're outside that door. My parents. I hear them talk. And when my vision when blue, all I heard were their voices.
"Damn it, Daniel. If you'd have just fucked her like any normal father, then I wouldn't have had to."
"Charlene, my coins need polishing..."
"Oh grow a pair and get in there and tell her it was you so we can leave this dump. Little bitch might hear."
After that it all turned to blue noise. Not the white kind, 'cause that means you don't hear anything. I heard it all and then some. When I walked out of the door and past them, down the hall to my room, I was hearing blue. I wasn't hearing anything I cared about anymore. I left them both there to rot. I wanted them to root to the spot and stand there dying slowly until a bomb hit the building. For all I cared, they could go back to their normal lives and leave me to my medicated abnormality. This was real life. There was so Steven Sondheim here and that's how Bunnyface liked it. Fuck their reality. I submit my own.
Monday, Oh who fucking cares?
I lie awake in my bed and look at the green wall of my room in the hospital. I am finally where it's safe. Thank whatever watches everyone.
I didn't have to lie for myself. Or my Mommy. Or my Daddy. Or my siblings which I'm not even sure ever existed anymore. I can be Jenny B. I don't have to do those things that scare normal people anymore just to feel whole. I can write this in the same journal I started after I found it in my grandpa's things. It was like he always wanted his granddaughter to be special and whole, she just had to hop around first and find how lost she was. I can't thank Grampy James enough.
Because, now? Bunnies can fly. I can fly away and be free, just inside these walls.
Tues-- Why bother with a date?
Meds are wonderful when they give you clarity. They're even better when they make you happy. Perhaps this is where I was meant to be all along. Clear and happy and medicated. Life is funny when you're a bunny and it's always sunny, honey.
I don't understand why the world needs money or sex or education or love to get by. I can get by just being sunny and medicated. You can't spell tranquilizer without tranquil.
Is there a moral here? I suppose so. The moral, according to Bunnyface, is sometimes hearing what shouldn't be heard makes life so much better for you in the long run.
Failing that, meds and sunshine make everything Bunny.