Diana Kurniawan

July 6, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

It was all a lie. The fatness in between and the phobias concocted out of Joey's mind was all his inability to get rid of his bulimia. It wasn't alcoholism, drug addiction or schizophrenia.....it was an eating disorder that ate him alive. The notion of eating healthy never came to him, it was a dream he used to say to me. 

 

It happened one night last month, and I am never the same again. He told me he wanted to have some porridge and he wanted to try some Chinese Porridge with Barley and Ginkgo Biloba from Shanghai Mong in Koreatown. I told him I have no idea what to do.  He told me to follow him and I just did that, and he meandered on some streets and went straight and then turned to the right and then left and crossed to the next street over and took me to a bus and some of the same things happened....we turned left and right and turned to the next street corner and crossed another alley and another street and went to hit up some bodega and got some Arizona Iced teas, and finally reached Shanghai Mong. 

 

"How the hell are we going to afford a place like this?!" I said, slapping the back of his shoulder. Joey smirked and had a plan and I never knew he was being cruel and vindictive at food and the biology of his own body.

 

"Let's just order," he said. 

 

We got a table in the corner of the place and we sat on some nice shiny mahogany chairs like in those Jackie Chan movies I remembered my Dad used to make me watch, to fill his time drinking whiskey inside a paper bag. 

 

"Just relax and open up your stomach and relax it even more, and let your butt just sink into the chair padding and let yourself relax," said Joey. I had no idea he knew meditation this way before, but the guy was determined to get his porridge and eat it too.

 

This night was special because I wrote to you, Seth Meyers, the night before, and I was really happy. I thought of the funny things you said to me during our special times together on Weekend Update on SNL. I like to think you were especially telling me stories of funny news across the ocean and across the bridge from Jersey to NYC. But, I digress, I was really happy, and so was Joey because I smiled and smiled and never suspected a thing.

 

"Barley and Gingko Biloba porridge, please, and you can add some chicken in there to please me," said Joey.

 

"I'll have the lettuce wraps, please," I said. Then I whispered, "Who's paying for this?"

 

"SSSShhhhhssssshhhhhh......," he said. I suspected something wrong, but I should have said something to him and stopped him, but the lettuce wraps came and it was DIVINE!

 

Joey ate non-stop and he slurped the porridge and kept eating it till it was gone. Then he reached into his pocket, and took out a small cockroach, and put it into the bowl. I almost screamed but I cried instead, and didn't know what to do! I was about to call the police, but I was so scared that I froze in my chair. 

 

"Joey.....you can't....," I whispered sort of loud and by that time, it was late and approaching 8 pm.

 

I didn't know people were still rolling in to dine and I still didn't know what to do. I never knew it was going to happen this way, but it did!

 

"Hhhhmmmm, sir, waiter, please come here, please waiter!" yelled Joey to the waiter. 

 

"Yes, how can I help you?" said the waiter.

 

"I finished the porridge and look who was in the bowl the whole time," said Joey.

 

"I am so sorry, sir!!! OH MY GOD!" said the waiter. He ran to the back of the restaurant and took the bowl with him.

 

The manager (and I think that man I saw really was the owner) looked at Joey and I swear, Seth, he folded his fingers together and bowed to Joey and cried, "I'm so sorry, sir, How can you forgive me?! Please, sir, don't call the health department. We are careless, we didn't know it was in there, it must have been a dead one."

 

"Well....just give me another clean one and we call it even. But my girlfriend and I are not paying for this," said Joey.

 

"No, we're not paying for this!" I told him. I looked to Joey and nodded. "I'd like a porridge too!"

 

"Oh no! She won't need another one, just a pair of lettuce wraps are enough, for her that is," said Joey. 

 

I kicked him under the table, but he looked to me and flicked me off. I kicked him again and he said, "Diet Dr. Pepper, for the lady, please."

 

"That's better," I said. "I am thirsty." 

 

The second bowl of porridge came after ten minutes and this time, it had sliced peking duck and preserved eggs inside. Joey's eyes became wide, and he slurped and ate the porridge without slobbering, but finished in five minutes. I counted because my Diet Dr. Pepper came afterwards. I sipped it with jealousy suds inside my straw.

 

I was so mad that Joey didn't play with me, but he suddenly dropped to the ground and held his stomach. He coughed and coughed and ran to the bathroom, and he made loud sounds like he was hurting on the toilet and farted loudly. I was scared and looked to the ceiling and around the room, and the closed my eyes and cried. I couldn't believe I was an accomplice to his fake cockroach, and now...to his food poisoning. 

 

The manager came out again and he went to the bathroom, which was near the back of the restaurant and some people still heard him. I walked towards the door and there was a foul smell and I ran back to my table.

 

"Just give me another clean one, and we call it even," I heard Joey said. He must be crazy to still want to eat here, and how many porridges could he eat?

 

"Joey....let's go back to The House," I told him.

 

"That's not right, we have to stay and finish this.....it is my last rite," said Joey. I didn't understand what "my last rite" meant and I didn't want to ask him, but I'm guessing it has to do with his right to make a statement. I was scared that he might become a criminal and I was so worried of how he might be caught.

 

Joey walked to the table and I swear, Seth....he looked like he lost weight, but from porridge? He only ate two bowls?

 

"Sir, the porridge is done and at your service," said the waiter serving the fresh bowl of chicken and dumpling porridge this time. 

 

"You have outdone yourselves, minions," Joey said. "Just kidding. Thanks."

 

He ate and I watched him and my mind began to wander at the possibilities that this was all a plot for himself, to get out of his own life at The Covenant House.

 

"Joey...are you okay?" I asked softly and burped, worried and full of Diet Dr. Pepper.

 

"UH huh....," he said, slurping and gorging himself with more spoonful of porridge. He slobbered and ate and ate and ate, and then I heard him fart. "Oh no!" he said.

 

He ran to the bathroom, and I heard him scream. "You bloody bastards! What did you give me?"

 

"Nothing, sir!" said the manager, who was listening to him, as I ran to the bathroom, and again, smelled the foul odor and ran back to my table. 

 

Joey came out and this time, he held his stomach, and he looked dehydrated and sweaty on the forehead.

 

"Bloody this time," he told me.

 

"Sir, we can give you free food, but please don't say anything to the police, please, sir!" said the manager.

 

"Make me another one and we call it even," said Joey.

 

The manager went to the kitchen to cook up another bowl.

 

Tears came out of my eyes without me knowing it was there, until I began to drip on the table and mucous came out of my nose.

 

"I'm worried," I told him.

 

"If there is anything I love, it's Chinese food," said Joey.

 

He looked to the ground, and took out some pills and it looked like something familiar. "This will make me go poopie more." He smiled at me, and took about a handful.

 

I didn't know what he took but they looked like fen-phen or diet pills because Joey told me once that he was dieting and he seemed to be dieting all the time. 

 

"Are those stool softeners?" I asked.

 

"I'm eating it, and hear me roar!" said Joey. "Another porridge, please! Hah!"

 

I was convinced that he was crazy and going mad! He told me that he wanted porridge, but he didn't tell me that he was about to poop it out at the same time. 

 

The next porridge was pork cutlets with green onions and pork blood. It looked amazing, and I bet it was delicious. Joey ate it and I knew he was chewing more than pork and pork blood and green onions, because those pills were in there too.

 

"I'm not sure if this is a good thing to do, but I'm going to call 911," I told him. 

 

I spoke to the manager and said, "I think he is addicted to porridge, Sir."

 

"As long as he won't call the police, we are okay and he can eat as much as he can," said the manager, as tears came out of his eyes.

 

I walked to the table and I saw Joey gasping. He held his heart and he fell to the ground. 

 

"Call the ambulance!" I yelled out to the waiter. 

 

Joey kept farting and soon enough, he was vomiting and then I saw his pants began to absorb something wet and the wet spot that was small began to enlarge and the foul fecal odor came out as I knew he was pooping on the ground as he held his stomach.

 

"If this was the way to die, then it is a good death," said Joey, his breath short and he began to cry.

 

"Why, Joey?" I asked him, in tears, "And why here? Why Chinatown, and why this restaurant, and this food?"

 

"It's my favorite," said Joey. As I looked on his face, a smile, and a big one at that. Then he held his heart and his breathing became shorter and shorter till it was no more.

 

The ambulance came and Joey was dripping with bloody diarrhea and mucous coming out of his body. I sobbed and sobbed and couldn't handle anything else anymore and just kept crying.

 

It was his relationship with food that made him homeless, that made his mother hate him, that made her kick him out. It was all foods that made him obese, yet jolly, and sad but happy at times. I was so sad and sobbed and sobbed and I didn't know what to do. I walked home and was lost for hours, until the police came to me, and asked me if I was okay and I explained to him what happened.

 

"Bulimia, that's what killed him?" asked the police officer. "Or was it the diet pills?"

 

"It was all of it, and his hatred for food, and his hatred for being homeless, and for being obese," I said.

 

"You need to go home, Mary," said the officer.

 

"I hope Joey is in Heaven with Jesus," I said.

 

"He died an innocent man, perhaps only guilty of food poisoning, but he died an innocent man," said the officer.

 

I will write again, Seth. But, that was what happened and it was just one night in Chinatown.

 

 

I lost a friend,

WishesOoohWishes.

June 1, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Today was the full day of summer I waited for, Seth. It took a while since the last time I wrote to myself (but fictionally to you, get it?). Anywho, Seth, I'm moving on. The trauma from Jack took a toll on my sleep. I had to move on. My heart must go on, because I have nightmares and it's not healthy. The PTSD and my bipolar depression really hurts me, Seth. I'm crying all the time and deep inside my heart I knew Jack was probably playing basketball. I don't have any evidence of it, just like the rape, but I know deep down inside he's in a park somewhere while I'm here in The Covenant House but no one was supposed to know.

 

What do you think I need to do, Seth. I hope I took the right steps in making this move to go on with my life, and decided to forget about the whole thing and just live on making my dreams come true. To be a writer, and to make it big. I don't know how yet, but I'm taking everything Joey adviced me to heart, and yes, also with the things that Sister McGeady told me. 

 

I walked to the park this past weekend and I went with Joey. Just between you and me, no one has ever talked to me. They always lurked from the corner of their eyes with sneers and judgements because I'm poor and my Dad drinks more alcohol than a bodega drunkard. I'm not sorry that I talked to Joey all the time. I think it's healthy, more than the love I kept for Jack, because he gave me nightmares. Seth, I'm moving on from Jack and if you're somehow telepathic and knew what I'm writing, please pray for me to keep it real and to keep going.

 

I went through a lot on my own, and especially with my Dad. I unbelievably pray now, and I didn't use to pray but I do now. I think it's the fears from the PTSD and Depression that made me want to be closer to something truthful and all powerful. Do you blame me? 

 

Joey told me all the time to pray and I listened to him. I don't usually listen to any guy unless he has a six-pack abs, and a gorgeous face, but I listened to Joey. Jack's pretty face means nothing to me now. I realized that his pretty faces led to pretty lies, but nothing will help me if I fall for more lies. It would be a harder fall from believing in God. I think it's a hard choice I must bear all of my life, and to listen to the words of Sister McGeady, but I will choose her over Jack. I will choose my own heart and choose Joey's friendship than suicide. 

 

If one day we meet, Seth, please hug me and congratulate me, because you must know deep down in your soul that there is a fan somewhere, somehow, someone who loves you unconditionally all throughout your life and your years of not making it to making it HUGE. You're the HUGE SOMETHING, and I'm sure you know how big you are.

 

You're global, Seth, and I'm in a New York homeless shelter. I'm a rescue mission to some, but to you, invisibly a friend, and to myself, a rock formation. I'm solidifying, Seth. I'm moving on, listening to words of truth, and no more lies.

 

Here is my heart, truthfully yours,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

May 21, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

The world is raining, Seth, and the sun is not coming out soon, but I know it's there. Like my future, Seth, it seems bleak but I know it's there. I won't think much although I do, and I'm sad to admit, and full of regrets, but I can say that I'm alright right now, this moment, it is itself, enough and for me, no one else. 

 

I went outside about an hour ago and I should have washed my hair and brought shampoo with the rain pouring, but I didn't. It would have been smarter, instead I cried. I looked up letting the rain drop wet my face, and my tears felt warm rolling down slower on my face. I thought about being a writer, and I didn't know a thing. What the hell was I supposed to do, Sethy? I never had a single English class, except for those classes in high school, and you know I dropped out, right. How? By what force? Who's going to tell me how to do this? What the heck am I doing? 

 

I knew how to have sex better than write, that's a fucking truth, Seth. I knew how to make love to Jack and got pregnant then ran away like a loser, but the important stuff....I'm totally shitty with it. I'm all talk. I don't know how to do anything. Feeling stupid right now. I don't know what books to read, what am I supposed to do now? Just pick up a book and say I'm going to be a writer? I'm writing nonsense, my grammar is shitty, and I'm crazy about some guy (you) who doesn't even know I'm alive and the worst of it is....he's a celebrity. I wish you were some computer science geek at GE or something, then you can at least give me discounts on fridges and microwaves. But this....I'm writing nonsense, talking to myself, writing shit, thinking shit, crazy shit like I'm supposed to be a world class writer and such. Who the hell will give me props for believing in myself? I think God is surprised, and you know nothing surprises that guy.

 

So I kept thinking about it and I talked to Joey, and he said, "Well.....one step at a time. You can think it over and try to go to college or something. Isn't that the right step?"

 

"Yeah, I'm going to do that, from New Jersey Community College, and get some big time publisher or agent.....yeah....that sounds reasonable, right Joey?" I said and asked at the same time.

 

"Uh-huh....I think so, right? Does that make you feel good or bad? Tell me," he asked.

 

"HHmmm.....it's okay but I'm not convinced you think I can do it," I told him.

 

"Well....," Joey said, with his eyes scrunched, and he definitely looked stressed. I made Joey stress out, Seth. What kind of friend stresses you out and makes you cry all the time? I'm so sorry for Joey sometimes, but I desperately need him. He walked away for a minute and I had no idea where he went. After five minutes, I was still sitting there, and he came back with an old 1980's walk-man, and it had some kind of tape inside.

 

"This is the only thing I got at the Goodwill store, and I swear to God, it's magic," said Joey.

 

Inside was a tape, and I think it looks like a battery operated walk-man, and I couldn't help it but laughed out loud, "What the hell is this thing? Walk-man, 80's tape deck, and who's in this tape?"

 

"Just listen to it," said Joey.

 

"Is it Madonna?" I asked. Gotta say, I love her.

 

"Nope....just listen," said Joey.

 

I took the headphones with some spongy thingy on the earmuffs stuff. Joey pushed play I think, or some kind of button, and the music came on, "Who is this chick, Joey?"

 

"Janis!" said Joey. "She was an old rock star, but don't blame me for her druggie addiction. I didn't do it," said Joey. "But she's great!"

I listened to her smoky voice and said,"Raise your hand," and I looked to Joey, "and what does that allegorically represent, Joey?"

 

"You gotta start from the bottom, ask questions, get your answers from experts, go to find resources....like the way you're doing now. It's possible," said Joey. "I gotta go pee, I think."

 

I listened to her some more and my head bopped...I like Janis, but with the voice I hear on my ear, she's probably a really tall lady with an electric guitar and dreds. I don't know who this Janis person is, Seth. But, I listened to her whole album and her voice took me to my room, and I sat on my bed as I start to write down next steps. 

 

Either Joey or Janis, they're angels. 

 

I love you, Seth, 

WishesOoohWishes.

 

May 20, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I wrote a little today, Seth. I wasn't sure what to do. I've been in this existential crisis all of my life. I wish my Dad was rich and I was a Princess and my Mom loves me. I haven't hugged my Dad for a very long time. If there was one thing I wished for in life, it's more Dad hugs.

 

I wanted to know what it felt like to have a normal childhood, and a normal high school experience. I kept thinking I should be blamed for everything but that wasn't true. Sister McGeady told me that not everything was under my control. 

 

I wanted to know what it felt like without depression or trauma. My life felt like one giant roller coaster and I was unstable for most of my life. I sometimes wished I did have the baby. I wanted to know what it felt like to be pregnant and have a healthy baby delivery, but that would put me in poverty and my Dad won't be happy. 

 

You know how people look back and they have regrets? I often look forward and I feel hopeless.

 

I had a thought that I would be in deep trenches all of my life, and I even had a nightmare that I would be 46 years old, working retail, not married, no kids, no retirement, and a spinster forever. That was the dream I had, that I was a failure and everyone knew and everyone was happy because they did much better than me in life. I dreamt that I was the loser that everyone labelled and hated. I saw that in my future, and I couldn't help but sob and felt these shattered pieces of my heart crumbling down to the ground, and life as I knew it was over.

 

What would you say to me, Seth? Do you think I still have a future? Do you think I'd be stuck in that rut forever and to be working retail and looking down on myself all the time, because I never amounted to anything? 

 

I now appreciate my Dad so much more, because he never wanted the life he was sentenced and I didn't think it was his fault that he became an alcoholic. I felt he was trying hard and things had a glass ceiling. All the retail workers at WalMart, Target, T-Bell, McDonalds, KFC, Home Depot, who worked their shift for a career in their retail jobs deserved better. I surely hope for each of them to have a family, and to have their situations in life worked out and I asked Sister McGeady to help me lift them up in prayers for miracles to happen. To tell you the truth, I am proud of the retail workers, because they're earning a living and not letting themselves turn to depression or homelessness or wellfare and hand outs. They're working and a lot of them are great at helping others. I love retail workers. They deserve the best things in life. I wished for each of them to be blessed and to prosper and to have the benefits and retirements they deserved. They've earned it and they're working honest jobs. Props to all retail workers.

 

As for me, I got hurt, Seth, and now I'm a part of the statistics. I promised myself to pick myself up. To get out of Covenant House after the therapy was over, and for Sister McGeady and the staff to finish helping me realize my own potential and to give me skills to care for myself. Sometimes I wished for my Dad to give me a pep talk. I miss that so much.

 

Seth, to tell you the truth. I want to write. All of my life, I wrote to someone, and I have been writing to you for at least as long as high school lasted so far. Perhaps my world won't stay the same and I would experience a push from angels. I won't wait for it, I will just keep working. Everything I've enjoyed was a creative art, every fan letter, every poem, every story, and every heartfelt confession. I sure hope to God that this works out for me, and if retail or even T-Bell would be my future, I'd walk the journey.

 

Sister McGeady told me to cut up pictures from old magazines to make a collage for her, of what I want for my life. I took a poster board and cut up pictures of New York, Paris, London, and the ocean. I took pictures of someone's writings, famous books, and cups of tea with cupcakes and some lemon tarts. I pasted them on the poster board and had pictures of a small house and a small dog with me and a picture of my Dad that I pretended I had. On the bottom, I wrote....keep going and keep moving, the world is my oyster. I also wrote...Dad and me, forever.

 

Seth, do you think that's good enough? Or do you think I'd be that 46 years old woman who would be single with no kids and working retail. If I was that woman, would you care for me less?

 

I hope I get to become a writer one day, because that's what I want to be.

 

Praying,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

April 30, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Seth, I never knew being homeless was this rough. I thought it would be camping outside, under the stars, and the occasional commando toileting in the alleys of New York, but I was naive and dumb. I wanted to get out of the house because my Dad called me a slut, but I think God was looking out for me. 

 

The Police Officer who I met at the 9/11 Memorial building took me to the station, and got me cab to meet Sister Mary McGeady at Covenant House a couple days ago. I was anticipating a nun, but I got some lady who said he was a counselor when I got there at close to 9 pm.

 

"Maria, is it?" she said. She had glasses on that looked too big for her eyes and nose bridge. She looked young, with streaks of copper and blonde highlights on her black hair. 

 

"Yes, I'm Maria. The NYPD sent me here," I said.

 

"I know. I'm happy they sent you here. I didn't want to see you get arrested for sleeping in restricted areas. The building you slept in weren't designed for the homeless. It was built to commemorate the fallen," she said. "Josey, that's my name."

 

"Thank you, Josey," I said. Her voice was soft as she enunciated every word perfectly. "You're not from around here, are you? Are all New Yorkers as nice as you?"

 

Josey smiled, and told me, "I'm from Jersey, and I went to school in the Midwest, Wyoming, actually. I'm a peer-counselor."

 

I nodded, and my backpack felt so heavy and my stomach growled as I tried to move my hands over my belly to hide my embarrassment.

 

"You're starving. Let's go to the cafeteria," said Josey. "You'll meet new friends there. It's also a sort of coffee place and a study hall place for group work."

 

"Thank you," I said. 

 

The cafeteria was a large dining hall with just long tables like in high school, and a kitchen.

 

"I was told Sister McGeady will meet me," I asked.

 

"She's already home, and she might join us tomorrow, but she's been ill lately, so we might not get to see her until later on during your stay here," said Josey.

 

I looked to my hands and felt dirty and wanted badly to wash myself. On top of feeling hungry, I wanted to meet Sister McGeady because perhaps I would be forgiven for the wrongs I've done.

 

"The one who is in you, is greater than he who is in this world," said Josey.

 

I looked to her, and my eyes mist into tears, and I asked her, "I'm filthy, why do you think my insides are still great?"

 

"You're not filthy in my eyes," said Josey. "Everyone deserves second chances. You deserve yours."

 

"I'm so scared," I told her. My thoughts were full of fears. I haven't taken my meds, and I don't have any meds anymore. Everything I had was in my backpack. 

 

"Let's get you something to eat, and I want you to meet someone," said Josey.

 

We walked towards the back corner of the cafeteria and a young man was sitting at the last chair with his belly over his jeans, and his cheeks red. His brown eyes were forthcoming, and he opened his arms to me, expecting a huge hug.

 

"Will you be my friend?" he said.  

 

I looked at his face and his husky body, large and sort of obese. Actually, he was obese.

 

"Everyone has a different walk, Mary," said Josey. She pulled out a chair next to the young man and sat down. "Meet Joey."

 

"I'm Fat Joey," he said. He laughed and looked into my eyes that were moist. I didn't want to repeat what he said, because I didn't want to call him Fat Joey.

 

"Okay...okay....just Joey," he said. "I was just joking."

 

I offered a hand shake and he got up and walked around the table and hugged me, gently. "I don't want to squish you," he said. His smile made me smile, and he poked his stomach and started to giggle. "Marshmallow man!" he said. "Get it! Ghostbusters!!"

 

I laughed with him, and remembered the iconic movie. I loved Ghostbusters.

 

"My Mom kicked me out of the house because I was fat. She didn't know how jolly I can be. I make other kids laugh, even with the depression I have," said Joey.

 

My tears began to peek out again, as I wiped my eyes out of the thought of how kind Joey was being and how cruel his Mom was to him.

 

"We were poor," said Joey. "My Mom couldn't feed all of us and I was always eating most of the foods."

 

"I hate your Mom," I told him. "You're such a wonderful friend already."

 

"Mary, we want to show you something," said Josey.

 

Joey walked back to his chair, and took out a piece of paper with a drawing on it. It has words written down, "Welcome, Maria. We will make you feel at home," it said.

 

"I made it. I was told to make you smile tonight, but I didn't do that, yet," said Joey.

 

I smiled at him, and gave him a huge hug. 

 

"Ooooh, you smell funny, Mary," said Joey.  I laughed out loud.

 

"She will shower in her room in the girls hall," said Josey. "For now, let's get her some chicken pot pie, and we've got to let her just enjoy her dinner. Mary, you can shower afterwards."

 

"Thank you, Josey," I said.

 

A woman with an apron walked to the table and gave me a tray of a chicken pot pie and some fries on a plate, with a glass of milk next to it and chocolate pudding. "Her name is Maria, too, Maria. Oh wow...this might get confusing," siad Josey.

 

"You can call me M, like in 007," said Maria, the woman wearing an apron. 

 

"Nice!" said Joey, and he clapped. "You'll get to know Maria, Maria. She loves movies, and she can give you a quote of a movie and we'll have to guess where it's from."

 

"Oh wow....I never knew anyone who can do that," I said.

 

"Oh, I kid you not," said Maria. 

 

"Is that from a movie, Maria?" asked Josey.

 

"No," said Maria. "But, if I would have said 'I shit you not' then it would have been from The Rock, that film on Alcatraz Island."

 

"Holy moly," said Joey. "See....she's like Bollywood Jeopardy."

 

"I know Saturday Night Live," I said. "I can impersonate any of the characters on the sketches."

 

"SNL sucks!" said Maria.

"WHAT?!" I said, surprised. "I write to Seth Meyers almost every night!"

 

"You're nuts," said Joey. "But, you should send him those letters."

 

"Maybe we can do that later," said Josey. "Let's let Maria eat and have some sleep."

 

"We've got a lot of adventures to come," said Joey. "We can walk everywhere. I gotta lose weight."

 

"Pace with him," said Maria. 

 

"Thank you, Joey. I can't wait to spend some time here," I said.

 

The night proved to be one of the most endearing bonding moment in my lifetime. Seth, I never knew Covenant House was this kind, and I never knew it was here. I was lucky that I wasn't harmed the way some of the children of the night were, as I knew from the past and from stories of other highschoolers who knew of so and so who ran away and got trafficked. I was about done when I walked out of my house, and I thought my life would be short. But, having Covenant House and Joey, Josey and Bollywood Maria, made me realize there were good people in this world. Jack wasn't one and he didn't love me, but I never knew there were so many others who loved me. Tonight, I felt the hand of God.

 

Hoping I found my help,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

May 1, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

There was an ambulance early this morning, and I woke up from the noise of the girls outside talking loudly. 

 

"She just had it," said a brunette with her puffy eyes. "I didn't know she would do it, but she did."

 

"What is going on?" I asked her.

 

"A girl wanted to run away and the staff told her she couldn't so she took all her meds," said the brunette. "I'm Geraldine, but you can call me, Pillow."

 

"Pillow, why Pillow?" I asked her.

 

"That's what this guy used to call me and it just got stuck," said Geraldine.

 

"May I just call you Geraldine?" I asked, politely.

 

"I guess so, but everyone, and I do mean everyone, calls me Pillow. It's because I'm a comforter."

 

"I would prefer to call you Geraldine," I said.

 

She smiled at me, and told me, "The ambulance will take good care of her, and you won't turn out like her."

 

I nodded, as some strands of my hair fell to the side of my face and I tucked it behind my ears.

 

"Why are you here? What's your name?" asked Geraldine. "You must have came after hours. We turn off the lights at 8 in the evenings, every night."

 

"Mary, or Maria, I ran away and was arrested by the 9/11 Memorial building," I replied,

 

"What happened to you?" asked Geraldine.

 

"Rape, my ex-boyfriend did it," I said, my eyes low.

 

"All of us here were raped once or more before. It's common," said Geraldine.

 

I looked around me and all the girls gave me a smile. They were all of different races and mostly teens and some were a little older, but mostly about my age. It felt bittersweet, knowing I wasn't alone, but I didn't want the things that I had to endure to happen to us. I didn't want my life to happen to someone else.

 

"All of these girls?" I asked, my head turned to Geraldine. She nodded, and said, "Girls...what do you think?"

 

Some of the girls also nodded, and some waved at me. Seth, I didn't know it was this common. I wondered if there were so many versions of Jack in America. How many of them were there? Why did they do this to us?

 

"You're not alone," said Geraldine. 

 

"It's a horrible way to find out," I said. I covered my eyes and realized that most of the girls in my hall now were once raped or violated by someone even worse than just a boyfriend. Perhaps it was their Dad, brother, cousin, uncle or someone random who hurt them, but we all had something in common, we were girls not yet women, and we didn't know what to do.

 

"Stay here, until you get better. The peer advisors will help you," said Geraldine. "Are you in school?"

 

"I dropped out," I said. 

"You can get into the education program here," said Geraldine. "Don't run away this time. Do your parents know you ran away?"

 

"I don't know if my Dad knows," I said. "He's an alcoholic."

 

"All good girls finish best," said Geraldine. "You're a good girl. Be kind to yourself."

 

I didn't finish talking to Geraldine, but I knew that there were stories to every soul who occupied the rooms about me. I wasn't the only lost soul and the only weary heart that came to this place. I wanted to say to myself that I was strong, but I felt so weak and I felt so scared. I supposed God sent me here, without knowing. Maybe my high school buddies were right, maybe somethings do work out when you work hard enough.

 

Seth, I would never know if you'd care for me, and I would never know if you'd appreciate me if I was a run away and if I was a survivor. I won't know if you'd be scared of me, because I was trying to stalk you at the Rockefeller Center. I really wanted to meet you, and ask you to help me with a pep-talk and to reason on my behalf, but I won't ever know if that would happen. All I knew right now was that I was no longer alone and I met those of the same circumstances, and we were not happy. Seth, I wish you could tell me a story that would make me laugh, and make all of us laugh. I could always pray.

 

I'm forever your girl,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

May 2, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I didn't get out of my room. I stayed here after breakfast. I had cereal, with flax seed with six grams of fiber. Won't be enough to get me to the toilet, but not joking. I didn't leave my room. 

 

I stayed in my room for lunch, too. There was just a bed and I signed up to go to the computer room, but I'm considered crisis intake youth, considering how I was just homeless a couple days ago and got arrested. I guess that made me a crisis. 

 

You know how people know where to go when they got off the elevator? Mine keeps going up and down and my mood swings from side to side and it's mostly low to the ground in drastic mode, and when the elevator door opens, I suddenly forgot what I was doing. It's no wonder my Dad didn't want me to drive. I never drove, and I didn't have a car. I walked everywhere. Even with my money from T-Bell. It was barely enough to make the rent and the bills.

 

I wish I could talk to you, and ask you to help me. I wished you truly was a big brother of mine, and someone who cared for me. I probably wouldn't be this way if I wasn't the only child, but it felt alone most of the time, and I had no one to confide in. I used to talk to Jack and Mabel but I mostly wanted a man to help me. I looked up to my Dad, but he was barely there. 

 

Don't get me wrong, I loved that he worked at Target and made ends meet with me at our little home, but I wished he didn't drink so much. I wished for so many things. I wished I never worried about what other people would say, and what Mabel would tell others. I trusted Sam, but he wasn't cool, Seth. Jack was cool, and I looked at their appearance more than their hearts. I got in trouble because of it.  Is your heart good, Seth? 

 

I used to watch these shows on the television, as much as I watched SNL, but I wondered if they really were good enough to be on the shows or if they hurt someone to get there. Did you ever screw someone over in modeling or back stab someone?  I thought about Jack and how he will get on in his life. I couldn't handle my tears at the thought of him walking on graduation, being loved by his parents, then going to college and meeting someone else, and getting on with his big life and who knows...at my luck, he'd end up at SNL or even another acting gig and become famous. What would you say to someone like me at my position, Seth?

 

I didn't get out of my room because I would walk out there in the world as the loser. The teen pregnancy case that aborted because she asked for the rape. What would anyone say to me? How was I supposed to fix this now? My life ends here, I think.

 

I want to go end it,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

May 3, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I ate cereal again with six grams of fiber. I ate the same cereal and if I added up all the fibers, I might as well take Dulcolax, but the strange thing is, I'm only urinating, and not anything else. Sorry, Seth, it's not like you'd like to know, but I guess that was a dirty joke from a girl on Bipolar Depression.

 

I stayed alive, and today I sat near the television but only stared at it. I couldn't do anything except write on these journals. My peer counselor asked me if I would ever want to go back to school to major in English. I told her, "If I'm still alive, probably."

 

I've been writing on my existensial mood swings all of my life and that's all I know how to do. Aren't English Majors, also Literature Majors? Aren't they supposed to read? Well.....I haven't really read. I've read trashy magazines that Dad had under the sink. But the writing is all shitty and some were supposed to be from world class writers, but they all write narcisist so well that I could only look at the nude pictures and adds. 

 

Forget it, Seth. I was never born to write. I'm a shitty writer, too. My life IS shit.

 

Shitty life, Mary,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

 

May 5, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I took my meds, that's all I remembered for today.

 

Medicated, Mary,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

May 6, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Joey pounded on my door, and I was really upset. He told me that the peer counselor has been asking me to get out and I missed my appointments with her. I told Joey, "I'm in crisis.....forever."

 

"That's not allowed," said Joey. His belly somehow closed the distance between us, and I was pretty sure our faces were about three feet apart. Anyway, he's big, and I looked at myself, and I felt big, too.

 

"You're new. You have to obey the rules, besides staying in your room and resting. There is a whole world outside. Let's go," said Joey.

 

I couldn't do anything else but cry and tears just kept flowing. I didn't want to go outside. Everyone had a compass in life, and I had an abortion. I had no assets, and nothing to live for. I felt like a loser and I didn't want anything else to do other than just sleep it off. I had a comfortable bed now and since I'm in crisis, I will just sleep here and not get out. Not write to anyone but you, Seth. 

 

"You have to do something else. Get out of that head or yours," said Joey.

 

"I'm comfortable here," I replied. It was true. It was all that I knew how to do, Seth. Write to you, write what I know and it's all the shitty things in life and not get out of the world inside my head. It helps me cope and it helps me to be safe. I was becoming a hermit, but who the fuck cares? I killed a fetus, and unborn child, because I asked for the rape. I had a choice and I was pro at it, but it wasn't my fault but it felt like it was all my fault. What would you say to me, Seth? What the fuck was I supposed to do now?

 

I saved myself but lost my soul,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

May 7, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

My peer counselor came to my room this early morning, and she told me to shower first and eat breakfast then to go for a walk with her. Her name is Joy.

 

"The first thing that happened to you, the first trauma," she asked.

 

"My Mom left," I answered. 

 

"Good. What's it like?" asked Joy.

 

"She hates us. It was her way out to get out of town," I said.

 

"Did you hear her say this?" asked Joy.

 

"No, but why would she leave?" I said.

 

"Was your Dad loyal?" asked Joy.

 

"As far as I know," I said.

 

"But you never asked him what happened?" asked Joy.

 

"She just disappeared, and never came home," I answered. "It's been like this since middle school."

 

"That was just a few years ago," said Joy. "You're 16? 15?"

 

"17," I said. "I tell people I'm 21."

 

"You look 12," said Joy. 

 

I frowned. I hated Joy.

 

"You think all girls and women are mean?" asked Joy. "Or is that leading"

 

"They can be bitches," I said. "Irresponsible. I felt like I had to parent my Dad because my own Mom didn't want to take care of us."

 

"I see," said Joy. "What about your Dad? Is he okay?"

 

"He drinks," I answered.

 

"Did anything wrong happen? Abuse? Hitting, or did he ever hurt you at all?" asked Joy.

 

"No, he's too drunk when he gets home. His friend Sam is always with him, but he's passed out, too," I said. 

 

"You're lucky Sam and your Dad didn't hurt you," said Joy. "Alcohol changes you."

 

"My Dad has a temper, but I wasn't hurt. I just worked a lot, and when I was little, I used to go in my room and wrote on my diary or watched tv by myself," I said. "Especially on Saturday Nights."

 

"What would you watch on television?" asked Joy.

 

"Re-runs of old shows, I love Lucy, Friends, and SNL on Saturday Nights," I said.

 

"Is that the journal you have?" asked Joy.

 

"I'm writing it inside my head and on these papers on real time," I answered.

 

"Okay....," said Joy. She shook her head and said, "SNL is a bit older for you."

 

"I like Seth Meyers," I said. (Seth.....I'm only 17, but my heart is 45).

 

The rest of the time with Joy was answers and questions about my Dad. I supposed it was where Jack came in, for my yearning for male attention. Joy didn't need to ask me more because I said, "I wanted to own my own love. Something irreplacable. Unlike my Mom."

 

"I'm sorry, Mary," said Joy. "I wished I knew why men rape."

 

"I still love my Dad. I just got scared that he would hit me and raped me that night when he got angry," I answered.

 

"He called," said Joy. "He asked me if it would be okay for him to talk to you?"

 

"How did he know I was here?" I asked. 

 

"The Police Department called his house, because they found your ID, and found out your Dad was home. They told him," said Joy. "Don't be scared. Your Dad sounded kind. We will supervise your visit."

 

"I want to stay here," I said.

 

"You can stay," said Joy. "Especially if there is alcohol abuse inside your home."

 

"Thank you, Joy," I said. 

 

"I think we can still walk outside and get some air," said Joy. "Want to get lunch, later?"

 

"I'd like that," I answered.

 

"Let's go to Be-wich-ed," said Joy. Be-wich-ed is a sandwich shop nearby here, Seth. If you've never been there, you should go because I got myself a tuna sandwich and it was delicious.

 

The rest of the time with Joy was walking down memory lane, the first time I fell down, the first kiss with Jack, and some talks about SNL and how you were never really on any sketches or I felt you looked incognito in all of them, until Weekend Update. Joy said she liked you, too, but she said you will most likely be married within a couple of years. Well, ...since it's 2010, I'll just count my blessings on having you in my heart and at the tip of my pen each night. Until then, Sethy. I supposed with Joy as my peer-counselor, I have so much to work through.

 

Somewhat making sense today,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

April 18, 2010

 

To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

For the past two days I've been worried, and fearful that I almost ended my life again. I wanted to swallow the Zoloft but I loved my Dad too much to leave him. My Mom left him and I couldn't do the same. I didn't tell my Dad why I was in bed the whole weekend. I didn't write and I didn't talk to anyone, even William, who I would usually call or meet at school. I decided to drop out and I will tell my Dad about the abortion because he has to know and perhaps he can help me get my GED and I can transfer to a community college in Jersey. 

 

I have so much fears inside of me about my life, Seth, that I don't know what to do. I am paralyzed by FEAR, and it is eating me alive. I had a dream last night that I was homeless and my Dad threw me out of the house because he was so disappointed and called me a slut. That he didn't want me to drop out and he was going to force me to go back to high school. Please don't tell my Dad anything if one day I sent these letters and you felt responsible or got scared because I'm a maniac.

 

I promise my love for you is harmless. The way I see you is how I feel about Mountain Turtles, and I view everything you do with loving eyes. You will never disappoint me. You've done well in life, Seth, and even if you somehow became a talk show host, I'd even be more proud, but I can't promise you that I will be alive or be able to watch your show every night.

 

For some reason I feel my life is short and I am so worried about it. I don't know if I was destined to be raped or that God had a plan for me to learn something from it, but I still will never understand why it has to happen to me. 

 

Remember those jars of tears? I don't know if God decides how many jars we will have and how many I will get will determine my strength. I am so fearful and so worried. I am so scared that I won't see tomorrow because of how I want to die today. Some days, the fear gets so painful and I feel like I've killed someone because of the abortion. 

 

I did it because I don't know if I can be strong enough as a Mom. My Mom wasn't strong enough for me and she left. She went out with someone else and left me and my Dad and never came back even once to check how I was doing. I wish you and I met when I was little so you can show me the ropes. What to learn and how to be strong and how to face my own fears, even when I didn't have a Mom during Mother's Day. I remembered at school, everyone had a Mom, and I cried to pieces because no one made my lunch, instead I had a snack bar from my Dad and it was my lunch for a very long time. I was still hungry and I didn't ask for help, but I was so scared and I didn't know what to do. I tried to play outside but it didn't work out. I would stay in and just put my foot under the sun, because perhaps my feet will have a mind of their own and will take me to different places. But, it took me to the bleachers because I was just searching for that love that I never had. I wish you are my big brother, perhaps I would be full of brotherly love that I won't have to search for it.

 

I wish you are here,

WishesOoohWishes (Your little sis, Mary).

 

 

April 19, 2010

 

To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I told my Dad and my dream came true. 

 

"You're irresponsible and dumb!" he said to me in the morning after he came home from work. He was tired and he said he needed something to eat, but I told him to sit down and to breathe. When I told him that I needed to take time off from school, his eyes became wide and he looked wild.

 

"You can't! Who would supervise you at home? Are you at least going to work at Taco Bell?" he asked.

 

"No, Dad, I will have to take time off and relax.and heal," I said.

 

"You should stay busy. Heal from what?" he asked me. He had no clue what happened. I began to cry and tears were sobbing out without my knowledge. I didn't  know I was sobbing until I tried to talk and I couldn't. 

 

"I had an abortion, Dad," I told him.

 

His eyes that were wide became moist and turned red and he was speechless. His mouth was open for a little while and I asked him, "Are you okay. Say something...," I said.

 

"That's a crime," said my Dad. "You could have gotten benefits with a child."  His thoughts went directly to benefits and money and it was the last thing I thought he'd say.

 

"What happened?" he asked. 

 

I tried to say "rape," but nothing came out. 

 

"WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!" he screamed at me.

 

"Jack and I had rough sex behind the bleachers," I answered.

 

"You're dumb!" he said. "That was a dumb move."

 

"I didn't ask for the sex. It just happened," I said in sobs with my upper lips covered in mucuous from the snot out of nose flowing down.

 

"Yes, you did. You did this to yourself," said Dad, the only man who I really cared for. I didn't have anyone else in this world, and my dysfunctional relatives won't be any help, so I slumped down to the floor and cried.

 

"Playing dead now? That was your move when you were little. It won't work this time. This time you have to fix your mistakes. It was a slutty move, and now you're in deep trouble. Where did you do it? The back alley and now you've got an STD?" he asked.

 

I shook my head and I couldn't stop crying. My head felt like it was about to explode. I wanted to ask for help from my Dad because it hurts so much. My soul hurts so much. My heart broke in pieces from Jack and now from the only man who I thought cared for me. 

 

"I didn't know what to do," I said, my voice cracked and my tears kept flowing.

 

I thought he would say something kind, but he said, "You hurt us."

 

My tears felt like a fountain pouring over my cheeks and flowing down my neck leaving drops on the floor. I wanted to end my life again. I didn't feel safe at home. I needed to leave. I wanted to go away, and find someone who would love me. I felt the whole world would hurt me and was against me. I felt a big sword behind me stuck to my back from Jack and his family, and another sword from God. I felt like a victim and I felt betrayed and so broken. What could I possibly do to fix this?

 

"You have to keep working, or you are staying in school," said my Dad.

 

"I can't. I can't show up to school with my mind like this," I said.

 

"You don't have a choice," said Dad. He walked out the door and drove off. He usually goes to sleep after his overnight shift but this time he drove off. I hope he won't be drunk when he comes home.

 

My stomach was still throbbing and I still had the diaper on from the procedure. I walked to T-Bell and talked to my manager and told him that I was ill and won't be able to work and have to quit. He had tears in his eyes because he said that he really enjoyed working with me. He said that he knew T-Bell was sort of a place of comfort for me with free burritos and cheese dips for dinner for me when I had no one to feed me. I told him, "I took out my frustrations here, and it helped. But i have new problems that has to be worked out in other ways."

 

"I understand, Mary," my manager said. I covered my face for a moment and he told me, "You're rehire-able."

 

"That means a lot to me," I replied.

 

 

April 20, 2010

 

To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

My Dad threw me out, Seth. I came home with my stomach in a bit of a hurl and went to the bathroom to vomit. I heard a slam at the door and my Dad walked to the back towards my bedroom and screamed at the top of his lungs, "You're stupid! You should have listened to me!" Then he slammed my door when he realized I was in the bathroom and he went to where I was, and there I was lying on the bathroom floor after a few vomits, and a hurting stomach, and my Dad began to cry.

 

"I sacrificed my life for your Mom because she got pregnant. I could have finished college and had a full time career and your Mom could have found a job and helped out, but she chose to ran out on me and you and went with some asshole who had a full time career," he said. "I could have been great, and now my daughter is a failure."

 

"Dad, I tried to help out," I pleaded. "Don't say I'm a failure. I already feel bad enough."

 

I wanted to ask him for mercy and ask him for a pause in life for a pause in blaming me and blaming my whole existence. That it was my fault that my Mom got pregnant and that I was the cause of her failure and his failure. I wished I was never born. I felt worse than garbage and I felt worse and low that I couldn't possibly recover. What should I do, Seth. I am the fault in all of life. I don't want to live.

 

I went to the bedroom and slammed it and locked it. I grabbed my backpack and took a few underwears and my bank card and a sweater, my jacket and my jeans and shirts. I took my medication and the meds for the PID and you, Seth, the journal I have been writing to. My love letters to my hero. You were the last thing I wanted to lose. If I lost you, it would be another tragedy. 

 

In life, you'd probably label me a loser because here I am, 17 and losing my mind, losing my life, and losing my whole existence because I had sex once and got raped once. You would probably call me garbage too, and you might not even appreciate me. That's why I'm not sending you these letters. You might report me, call the police, hurt my reputation and I guess, because you're rich and a celebrity, you'd hurt me too. I wish there were nicer people in the world that I'd start believing in you.

 

I am starting to lose every warmth inside my heart and the bitterness began to hurt me more than what my Dad labelled me. I walked out and left my Dad on the couch asleep. He was drunk and he slobbered and screamed because he was drunk. I didn't want to get hurt and I didn't want to stay in my room and swallow all of my pills. So I walked out.

 

Journal Station wasn't too far and I walked there and took my bank card and paid for the MTA fare for New York. Right now I'm in the train with no plans to go home. I don't know what to do but I know it's 8 at night and I don't know what to do. 

 

Clueless,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

April 21,2010

 

I've been in the train station for overnight because I don't think I have enough money for a hotel room. I only have $500 in the bank. I will need it for really important things. I went to a bodega on 42nd street and got myself an orange juice. It should last me for a day with all that Vitamin C. I was thinking of getting those packed sandwiches but it cost $4 so I got an M&M and will be eating it when I take my meds. I don't know what to do about that either. I got it precribed to me from school and now that I'm not in school, I'm not sure if I can take my meds anymore. I know I will feel the changes more and will be crying more. I don't know what else to do but to cry again. 

 

I'm sorry if I write that I'm crying again, Seth. I'm not a cry baby but when I'm confused and lost and I am so afraid, I cry. And I have to write about it because if it stays inside my body and my brain, I will go psychotic and try to end my life again. 

 

I think I will use my $500 for a room somewhere and get myself to a job. Maybe I can find a fast food place and work there like I did at T-Bell. I will walk everywhere although I hardly know New York and I don't know what to do now that I'm on my own. I'm so scared that the top of my brain has chills. The back of my neck felt clenched like someone wants to pull me down to the ground and into the Earth six feet under. I am so worried that I am supposed to die right now but I'm beating around the bush and trying to not harm myself because I'm confused and scared.

 

Seth, if you were in front of me, what would you tell me? I am trying to picture you talking to me, advising me and helping me, but I don't know if you'd care. If you were in front of me, Seth, I would want you to tell me that you do care about me and what happens to girls like me. Girls who don't know any better and girls who don't know what to do. 

 

Some people have a compass, but I never got one. Mine went with my Mom, and even my Dad lost his compass too. We both felt lost without her because I felt she was so selfish and she wanted more in life that she was willing to sacrifice us. I wish she took me with her and left Dad on his own and let him get his college degree, then perhaps I could be in a better spot. 

 

Some people have a roof over their heads, but if it wasn't for a cheap rental that my Dad and I lived in, we'd be homeless. Look what happened to me, Seth. Now I'm a statistic, and I'm homeless because my Dad told me I was dumb and a stupid and a loser. I want to go to my grave, Seth, but I'm afraid of death.

 

I'm sitting on the floor of the 42nd street exit in New York and I wanted to see the Rockefeller Plaza and I wanted to see you, but my shirt was wet from my snot and I was sweaty. You wouldn't want to see me. I'm still crying and I am still worried. I hope my own mind won't kill me.

 

Wishing for a better life,

WishesOoohWishes in New York.

 

 

 

April 12, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I went to Planned Parenthood and talked to the nurses and they said I might have a very serious case of PID. They gave me some meds and I took them, but it's gotten worse because I'm pregnant. I'm suicidal. I want to die, Seth, and I don't want to tell anyone in case they will call the police on me. My Dad doesn't know and I have an appointment to abort in a couple of days. I'm staying away from school because the pain in my pelvic is so raw and rough on me that I can't even sit down. 

 

I got PID from Jackass Jack, because I'm not sexually active with anyone, and I suppose he's been sleeping with someone else, and I don't want to know who. I am so terrified right now because I"m worried I'm not going to get shot by an Italian at T-Bell but that my groin will grow bacteria and I will die of an infection (which is more realistic if you ask me). But, in all honesty, I wish Jack will get shot by an Italian in his bathroom on his toilet while taking a dump so all his shit will show. I'm really hurt by him because I wanted true love but I got an STI instead. I wish I can tell you what it feels like, because I can bet that you never knew how it feels to be me. I bet you're the type who gets the girls, but don't let them touch you because you're polished and high class, unlike me who is a daughter of an alcoholic who doesn't even remember my birthday. It was this past Sunday, and I spent it at Planned Parenthood. 

 

If I can express my emotions to you at this time, it would just be tears in a bottle. I read somewhere that God collects tears inside a bottle and that every soul has a jar and if it gets filled up, then He'll start another jar. Somehow that fact hurts me, because I believe it and I know God is watching, but I've screwed myself over and I bet Jack only has a tiny tube instead of a bottle because he's a prick and he doesn't care about me. He hung up and I can't call him anymore because I don't want to get sued by his rich parents for stalking him or harassment. 

 

Seth, I think I might have more than one jar of tears. I'm so worried because how many jars will I have to cry in my life time, if I'm this sick and raped by 17? Do you think I'll have a long life? I know you're not with me, but if you were in front of me, would you hurt yourself? I want to end it all. 

 

I can't handle it, so I'm taking the Zoloft prescribed by the Nurse Practitioner at PP,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

April 13, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I took a few Zoloft again and it made me feel sort of numb but I had a nice dream.

 

It was Valentine's Day, and I was in this dream in some unknown town in Europe, with you. It was the day of the LOVE CARNIVAL. All streets in the Europe, whether cobbled, pebbled, or paved filled with people, friends and families, especially children with heart pins on their proper attire of their choice to attend this carnival. We saw in social media that Japan and China, then Singapore and Russia were starting to do it too, but in their time zones. 

 
Each person nearby us received a little heart token to meet a real prince or a princess of their choice, with the condition to accept or reject any invitations with the eyes of love, and to honor each person offering their hearts. The scents of my favorite citrus fruits, and jasmine emanating in the air from all of the granulated tea satchets, were sold in every corner of the huge square blocks of the carnival.

 
There were open carriages with plump cupids with wings, holding signs with such beautiful messages, "Love, the non-perishable item!" Or "You are made to last forever!" There were roars from people with each message, and as each carriage passes by, sparkly heart confettis were thrown in the air, and it was a beautiful day.

People were meeting each other, and new friendships were formed. No one was left behind and nothing would harm anything; and Seth Meyers, in this dream, you were the King of the Carnival. There were Love Festivals, or Love Parades all across the world held in the cities of your choice. All heart shaped decors were out of stock, red balloons had a waiting list, and for some reason, there were kiwis everywhere! Everything sweet was at the carnival, and every kind of candy shops had a booth. All types of fairies were there, all kinds of fairy god-mothers, gothic fairies, pretty fairies, or tooth fairies walked around with their wands and their wings, and every woman wore a tiara. There was a violinist playing Vivaldi's Four Season, and later on, a guitarist, strumming Eric Clapton! Amor de machina!!!

 
I witnessed a miracle, because for one day, everyone was in love and everyone was kind to one another. Forgiveness won, and I was laughing and happy. No matter how much pain was done, for one whole day, everything spelled L-O-V-E!!! Of course, the hot air balloon had to be there with little puppies inside, ready for some soul to take them home, and yes, there was a cotton candy machine, complete with a clown who sold each bubblegum flavored cotton candy to someone like me, who was in love with King of the Carnival, Seth Meyers. For some reason, all of my missing pieces inside my heart from Jack's rape were gone, and my dreams came true.

 
Have you ever held a carnival like this before, Seth? Anywhere? Maybe you could do this for Valentine's day, just once a year, for everyone, everywhere!!!! LOVE, LOVE, LOVE!!!

 

I just want you to be on everything!!! With ZOLOFT coating,

WishesOoohWishes

 

 

April 14, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I went, and I aborted. I want to die, because It feels like killing my own heart. I vomited and the nurses held my hand and the nurse practitioner who helped me abort told me that it was risky to have the baby because of the PID. I was severely depressed when the put me in sedation and they said that I came out with tears in my eyes.

 

I couldn't stop crying and the nurses wanted to take me to the emergency room, at a proper hospital, but I told them that I took a few days off from T-Bell and I would have to take a few days off some more, and I couldn't take a month off. If I were to be taken as inpatient, I'd have to be at the hospital for at least a couple of months and William will be telling everyone that I was sick and it was because of Jack. 

 

I called William, but I didn't tell him anything. I told him that I won't graduate this year and I will be dropping out. I won't go to prom and I won't go to any dances and I asked him to pray for me. He cried. He said, "Jack is wrong to you. What happened?" But, I couldn't tell him. William might be the only person I could trust, but I still couldn't tell him. I didn't even tell Dad. He asked me where I was the whole day because I came back in the evening, holding my stomach with a brown bag of meds and I inhaled them immediately, along with the anti-depressants. I wanted to dream like last night again. I wanted to dream that I was in a Love Carnival.

 

I want to dream, all the time. I want to go away. I want to start over, but I didn't know how. 

I needed to find you, and I wanted to go to New York with the bus or take the subway there. It's not far and I heard some people say that you walk to work. Maybe, we can have coffee and I can walk with you on your way to the Rockfeller Plaza and you can give me a pep-talk about boys and why they hurt me.

 

I wish you can tell me why Jack would rape me and not even talk to me afterwards. I wish you can tell me why Jack would hurt my life at all, knowing how much I was crazy about him. I wish you have all of the answers. I wish you were my big brother, maybe my life would have been better.

 

You're my hero, Seth, and my imaginary big brother,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

April 15, 2010

 
To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers, of Saturday Night Live,

 
I believe, there is always a reason a person is placed in the middle of life. Sometimes, to harness the wind, and at times just to make you smile, even for a speck of time. You make me smile, Seth Meyers, and I thank you. I think I've met plenty people, but for some reason, as anyone could identify with, only a handful comes into your mind. Statistically, it is impossible for anyone to be in anyone's mind at the same time, especially for a poignant purpose in life. This role is not for just anyone to fill, and this person may be an Oscar winner of an actor, but people will know their real characters, it comes with time. I believe in you, Seth Meyers, and your character, although in public view, you could make anyone smile. Congratulations, you are a beautiful comedian and a gorgeous actor. I am extremely proud.

 
If you are wondering who the people who harness the wind for me, are? They are the people who are in my position, the people who love you. They don't know how profound their lives are, because I understand how they admire and their reason for inspiration. I think, sometimes we need a good person to look at, and to remind ourselves, that we are as tasteful, delightful, and beautiful as they are. There is comfort in affinity and also, we sometimes just want to smile, and laugh, OUT LOUD!!! Sometimes, that's all we need.

 
There are others, the ones who just make you cry and fill you with the fuzziest, warmest, and most genuine heart felt emotion to move you. I want to be one of those people, and I wish for others to learn and become that person too, as I am learning myself. I want to make a difference in my own life, and I am happy there were others who did make a difference in my life, without even knowing. There is always a reason for everything, and if there aren't, maybe the reason will show up with time. I hope all those reasons are so good, that everyone could make it in life, just like you, Seth Meyers. Maybe, out of the millions of people who love you, someone will learn to be as profound. Then they will be the inspiration for someone else, as you are to me.

 
I know I want to.

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

April 16, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I stayed home and Dad was upset because I haven't been to school. I told him that I needed time and space and to take my time to think and he lost it. He threw the gin bottle in the sink and it shattered. He said his life was a piece of shit and he didn't know how to fix it. Dad was afraid that I'm turning into him. He said he wants me to go to college, but I don't want to right now. I'm not in the right mindset.

 

I just aborted and I needed time to think. I'm still bleeding out of my womb.

 

If my Dad threw me out of the house, I'm going to take all of my money in my bank account and go to New York CIty and stay at a shelter somewhere. 

 

My stomach feels like it has a screwdriver stirring my intestines. It hurts and I can't walk. I never knew my first time having sex would be at Breckenridge and I was going to be raped because of it and had to abort. I think those jars of tears are filling up fast, Seth. I have been crying, and it has been really hard on me. I got an anxiety attack and a panic attack because I didn't know how to control my fears. I had a dream that Jack was going to take me to court if I reported him. 

 

You probably think of me as a coward for not reporting, but I wish you knew how rich Jack was compared to me. Plus, I asked for it, and I got rape because I was turning him on. I deserved it, Seth. I'm the fuck up. I took an extra Zoloft tonight, and if I don't wake up, you'll know why. 

 

Thank God I would never send these letters to you. You'd probably report me, too. 

 

I am garbage,

WishesOoohWishes.

April 5, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

It's really more than revulsion of life that I am writing out these letters to you, but for the purpose of healing. Who knew that writing is coping? And to love a writer like you, Sethy, is bliss and candies.

 

I hope you realize the power of your influence on my heart, because you've moved my life from the opprobrium to subtle glory. It is not about my faulty ideals anymore, it is more of release to gain strength, because somehow, I can empty out all of those bad horoscope readings on my past and replace it with some good astrology.

 
There is more depth to me now, because after I release all of my angers on paper about my misfortunes, I feel the energies of those who've experienced similar dramas. It's all there, and I have to just take those energies out to replace them with some form of wisdom of profound truth, from what I've learned through my own disgraces. I am so grateful you are not mad at me, otherwise I would feel sad about my life, if I my heart throb is actually disgusted by me. You are so patient Seth Meyers, and the more I write to you, the more I realize you are forever gorgeous and I am forever in love with you.

 

Don't worry about what others will think about you because some high school kid is nuts about you, when I'm underage and you're over the thirties hump. I'm just an old soul and I feel like I've known you all of my life. I used to think I you look like an old neighbor names Udi, but he's long gone and married now and he's nothing like you.

 

I feel better today but there are still bouts of anger and it hurts me. I still have thoughts of the bleachers and my Dad is still not here and Brenda sometimes comes around. But, everything feels fleeting. Everything, even life. I feel like my life will end early, because at this rate, after the rape and the episode at Planned Parenthood, I'm going to be shot somehow at T-Bell by an Italian. Don't get mad at me because of these morbid thoughts, because what kind of positive moments in life have I had lately? None.

 

In pain, truthfully,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

April 6, 2010

 

To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night LIve,

 

I want to be like William, minus the facial hair and chubby body. He told me today that Seth, you're his hero too, and I immediately love him as a brother. I gave him a hug and told him that he's my friend for life.  He then told me about this group that he saw my Dad's friend, Sam, is in, The Knights of the Columbus. William told me that if I needed his help and Sam's help, to come to him, and to ask him for help. 

 

I don't want to tell anyone about the assault and as a matter of fact, Jack, is no in my mind unless I get symptoms of my depression again. It hurts when I get it because I can't stop crying and I hurl and vomit. I don't tell anyone and I try to slice my wrist with my nails, but we all know that's not real, so I just play it cool and let it go. I don't let anyone tell me what to do anymore. I don't trust anyone and even my Dad doesn't care. I have to make sure rent is paid and we have a roof over our head, because Dad hasn't been around lately and neither has Brenda. I'm worried something is wrong and he's going to be depressed and lose his job this time. I don't want to be homeless.

 

I tried to speak to India, the girl who told me about Jack and how she knew. I tried to ask a couple of people and I called Mabel, to see if she'd know. I still hate all the princesses of my high school. They have everything and I work at T-Bell. I was dumped by Jack and those girls are virgins and they've never even been kissed. 

 

Hindsight, I regret it all, Sethy. I regret wanting to be kissed by Jack and wanting to sleep with him. I regret wanting to have sex with him, and wanting to be a part of his life. I regret everything. Sometimes the sorrow is so full over my head that I can't handle it. 

 

I don't know India's number and I don't know if anyone will talk to me about Jack. I can't call Mabel, she'll tell my homeroom teacher or the principal and I'll get Jacked. No pun intended.

 

Lost for words,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

April 7, 2010

 

To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I thought about the millionaires of the world, and how satisfied they are with their lives, with a degree or without a degree. Are they satisfied with who they are and what they've done, especially after their pursuits of happiness? Do they all have true love?

 

Have they made themselves, whom they become in all honesty? Have they fumbled the ways of life, on the road to success? Were they millionaires by birth? The truth is, I am the millionaire of love, and I suppose that love was what I want to also seek, but I'm a poor woman in faith. I have none, and i don't think I will survive this life.

 

Maybe because my dream, hopes, and its level of success does not have a monetary value, because it is priceless in comparison to ambitious money. It is measured and based on my personal desires of having a family, beautiful career, and lasting friendships. Does this ambition come with a picket fence with a rose garden and a Mercedes Benz? Why not? Why not go beyond and reach the sky?

 

Besides, this scale is an innate gift, the one my Dad told me to develop in life.  Yes, I think it could be a measure of the education I can gain, or naturally and through nurture. This is why going to school is best for me, and I am happy to know I am not the only one with this desire, hope, or measurable scales of ambition. But, with Jack in high school....education is a misfortune at this time, Seth.

 

The other girls at school have some form of a walnut like brain inside their psyche, but me...I'm just a walnut. They may not be a pistachio like me, but they have the same level of peanuty flavor, with a slightly salty tasty to them. Some people have this flavor of opinions from that walnut of a brain they have, so raw that's perfectly tasty, and noticeably delicious to its element. It is unmistakably them, and it is their signature taste, with a delicious presentation for accompaniment. They have someone who cares for them. My life is non-existent to a lot of people, and the only person who said he cared was William and The Planned Parenthood nurses. I'm just a plain nut, and the pistachio dream is unreal, Sethy. 

 

I want to be this exceptionally rare beauty, until the world is enchanted through me. This desire only comes out when I'm writing to you, because in reality, I am a huge mess and I'm going nuts.

 

Wondered if you wrote love notes in class,

WishesOoohWishes ------ß--@

 

 

April 8, 2010

 

To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I called Jack. He hung up. I vomited and Dad heard me. Surprisingly he was home and it seems like he was having a serious talk with Brenda. I know Dad is supposed to be sober now, but I've seen him and Brenda having a couple of beers sometimes, and I don't write down when, but I know that's not right. But, who am I to tell him what to do? I'm sick myself.

 

Jack was all inside my chest today, and school was a Jackass, no pun intended. I'm tired of going there and I want to leave the planet. I don't want to stay at school, and I want to search for you. I want to visit you at the Rockefeller Plaza and meet you in person and kiss you on your lips, even if you're sick. I won't tell anyone if you reject me, even. That's how crazy I am about you. I know your girlfriend is beautiful and I predict you will have three kids, two boys and a girl. It's 2010 now, and I'm not sure how long until you're going to get hitched and make babies, but I'm going to make a go at it. I don't know what to do with my rape trauma. Everyday it is worse. I vomit all the time and I'm not eating. I don't want to, and I don't want to go back to the Planned Parenthood, they'll just call my counselour.

 

I'm having a nervous breakdown I think, is that possible at 17? I'm not sure if this is what it is called? Is my nerves taking the best of me and me crying in a fetal position in the girl's bathroom a nervous breakdown? Because that was all day today at school, and I escaped again. I ran out of the school double doors and I didn't look back. That place is hell on Earth. I shouldn't have gone. I want to leave!

 

Planning to drop out,

WishesOoohWishes

 

 

April 9, 2010

 

To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

If I was an "I Love you," in bubble letters, I would be the colors of Royal Blue Letters with hearts all across the words Love. It symbolizes my royal heart of a princess and the depth of love all throughout the color lines. William asked me why I wanted to date Jack or to have a relationship with him.  My answer is because baby lobsters can only mate once when it grows up, so it better have the perfect match.

 

I wish people could just see how I love them, and at times they probably won't understand why I love the way I love. But, love is love and people are stupid.

 

Some people want me to love them a certain way, and I would try to do so, but the fact is, I've gone through what I call, …shit hole.

 

For example: there were letters I wrote to you, Seth, and it was all angry words. All SHH8T this, and all F6%! That…but they never made it in print, because I wanted to say the things I say without restrictions. Then I realized, its just like the way people want me to love them a certain way, and I don't understand. If we were to meet, I know you would want me to write nice things about people, not shit this and shit that because I'll get sued and you'll get sued for teaching me flagrant things. But, I'm in a shit hole. So I'm writing shit-holish things.

 

So, the stresses comes out and the frustration level rose to headache level. I just wish I could control every thing to minty lavender and happy basil all the time., when I'm writing to you, but I was so hurt that I could not understand my own love for you. I just kept writing and writing verbage I know you wouldn't like. As all writers know, it was okay and it will be edited out later, but with me, because I'm not a writer, I'm writing these shit down and I don't care.

 

It isn't so perfect with the ways of my life, Seth. I hope you don't care about my deep emotional traumas.  I felt it was always my fault, these overwhelming emotions, because I was the cause of the rape and Jack was just following his nerves. 

 

I want to make it stop, this emotions and headaches, to leave lonely planet to make the heartaches stop. I wish you are here to comfort me, and I wish you are my neighbor. Then the cries ceases to tear, and my heart heals itself to love.

 

I was just trying to heal and love, but there were cacophonies and commotions in the background ruining moments with or without Diet Coke.  I wish I could explain this further, but my heart is breaking and I wish I have some people back in my life again.

 

Unconditionally a loving fan,

WishesOoohWishes

 

 

April 10, 2010

 

To The Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

My Dad has a rough night, and he said he broke it off with Brenda because his AA Group noticed he's been doing wrong and drinking after work.  Sam came by and told us to seek a family counselour. He said he's sober now and he's doing good with The Knights of the Columbus and asked my Dad to join. My Dad said, "What a be a crazy prick with pins on their shirts? No, thanks, bud. I gotta go to AA on my own."

 

I don't blame him, and I don't blame Sam either. I wanted to tell William to stop telling Sam what to do because I know why William tells Sam to help out, it's because William is afraid I'm going to drop out and become a homeless teen. I'm not going that route. I"m going to see if I can do better. I'm turning this shit around. I'm tougher than they think. 

 

I'm trying to find out what I can do with myself. I'm really messed up, Seth. My headaches are monstrous and I'm not on the pill. I'm worried I really am pregnant. I'm hoping my period stays regular. I haven't checked. If I get pregnant, I'm not sure what to do with myself. I'm sick to my stomach and all I can think about is being with Jack and being in a marriage with him and everything is perfect and we have a career and a dog and two kids. I'm psycho I think. I'm thinking of how perfect life would be with him, when in reality is that Jack raped me.

 

I'm going to stop and just watch SNL. I will write tomorrow or in a day or so. I'm so sick, I can't write.

 

I'm delusional and I feel sick,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

February 27, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Have I told you my love for you just hit its formative years? 

 

When I was little, I thought you were most likely that brave soul who wasn't afraid to hold my hand to play in the sand box. You whispered to me, inside my dreams, "It's okay to be shy. I still know who you are."  Then, you said in my dreams, "I have a huge monster in my backyard, wanna see him?" and I would be silly enough to believe that monsters really scared me at all. 

 

Times when the skies were grey made me wish you were my sand box buddy, because you would be the cutest sand box buddy I would ever have (and the oldest);and it would be completely fun to have you as my friend. 

 

Maybe if I was your sandbox buddy you'd be my best friend, although I never grew up with sand boxes or monsters in my back yard.  I grew up with lots of mud and rain that I played outside all the time, to watch the ground turned slimy and muddy. In the springtime, I would run outside in the fields of flowers where their buds bloomed and somehow, there was an ocean nearby, where I soaked my feet in the sand, and looked up to the sky and said, "Thank you for loving me."

 

I prayed for those wishes and prayers to be worthwhile for God, or for another soul like ours, to meet one day, from across the world. That perhaps a little girl and a little boy with the same wishes like mine, would meet and their hearts would take form, and they fall in love.

 

I know there were more important issues in the world than wishing for you to be my play mate. Like the fate of a little boy who carried a basket of rocks in India, or the little girls fighting assaults from the Rwandan militia; that my wishes of having you as my sand box buddy seemed like hop-scotch to God.

 

I prayed for those children too, that maybe they will have such a loving sand box buddy like me or you.  But today, I just wanted to love you very much, and maybe my wishes to meet you will one day come true.  I knew we live under the smile of heaven under the same moon and stars, with angels watching over us. Maybe they would notice that I was in love, and praised my wishes to God, to send you one day to be my friend.

 

For every letter I wrote, I prayed for every heart to be lifted up, and immersed inside that happily ever after I wished for everyone.  I also hoped for you to appreciate these series of love letters to God that I wrote for you. I raised them to heaven as a protest for love to conquer all.  For every child to grow up and experience true love as I wished in that vision of you and me, as sand box buddies. For the happy childhood and loving memories of all children to withstood the test of time. 

 

This sand-box buddy wishes might come true one day, maybe if not for you and me, then for two little children who God saw as a pair of doves, meant for true love.  If not, these wishes were still true, as I prayed dreams to come true, hearts to mend, and my heart to manifest to life!  In hope of you, Seth Meyers, that maybe one day, I would meet you.

 

Because I love you,

WishesOoohWishes