Diana Kurniawan

September 18, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

My life is not futile, Seth. It is NOT, and it was never meant to be. It is well with my soul that Joey has gone and now perhaps in the midst of hell and heaven, in the between spaces where all unrest hath gone. I wish I could turn back time and tell the guy that he's got a friend who would speak to him till dawn and with all her might, try to settle things to a peaceful rest and send him to the Emergency Room for Mental Health.

 

I decided, because Joey is now gone, I will not lead the same life. I will try with all of my heart, mind, and soul to love my life, even through the crevices of doubt and harsh realities. I know I won't be in my late forties working a dead end job, but if I am that person, I will keep going. To tell you the truth, those middle-agers with a job are lucky. They are not lazy and they are hard-working classy people. I am one of them.

 

If I end up being 46 or even 50 years old and working at Target, I will keep working hard, no matter what, and write and love my Dad. If I am still alone, I won't try to find someone because you know I'd be so depressed, lonely and desperate, and those three factors will land me with the wrong man. I will wait it out. My life is not futile. I know God has a plan for me. Sister Mary McGready told me that once she never thought she would write a book, but the calling was there until she published over a million copies.

 

Perhaps, Seth....I will write and become a writer. Perhaps I will write about everything and anything under the sun. I know my mind isn't broken and I know that even with PTSD and my Depression, I am still strong. I know the weakest are sometimes the strongest and most valuable cornerstone we never knew we deserved or had.  Sister Mary McGready told me that if I was emotionally hurt, I am still perfect in the eyes of God, and I am not futile or broken down that I won't amount to anything but garbage. I know that with God, anything is possible.

 

Do you believe me when I say that I will write? Perhaps these love letters are just the beginning of something even sweeter, something worthwhile, and something valuable that no one would ever guess they would read and cherish? Maybe, even the rapist will appreciate me.

 

I am one of the chosen to have to lead a difficult path, and maybe it wasn't because I was dumb, but I was hurt since I was young and lacked guidance. I knew my Dad wasn't perfect and I wish he was. I wish he had time for me, but he doesn't. He doesn't have time for himself and for his own illness. He is struggling and I won't blame him, or regret my past. I won't dwell or tread on that road once again. I know it will come up over and over again, and I will try with all of my heart to dodge that unbelief in my own genius.

 

Do you believe that I am a genius, Seth? I know you are, but what am I? I am a genius, my life is NOT futile, and I am the possible in the impossible. I am chosen and I am a cornerstone. I am a gorgeous human being who is under appreciated by some, because they are too selfish to see the beauty in others. It isn't my fault for their imperfections, but I also know it isn't my fault that I was hurt and I was defiled and partly broken from time to time. I will keep going and writing as if nothing happened, and if these symptoms come back (like all victims of violence know and feel) I will have to settle my breath into a peaceful space, close my eyes, and practice my prayers as the warrior that I am.

 

Do you think people are scared of victims of violence, Seth? I know a lot of people don't like us, or choose to see us as a negative, but we are actually the positive. We are the population who understand what violence feels like and I know most of us don't want it to happen to others. Those who become harmful didn't practice their genius, but I am one with a genius mind, Seth. Do you believe that I am a strong proponent of good? I am. Know that and if one day I become a writer with my own website and my own stories, I will write these letters to you and send them into cyberspace as my true heart to help others through my unconditional and heartfelt love for you. You are my sweet spot, Seth. Keep making the world laugh, and keep reaching to the scariest population of people, yes....the Donald Trump Fans. 

 

I love you, Seth Meyers!

WishesOoohWishes (a.k.a. Mary)

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

A good day, on a certain special month, in the years to come.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I didn't die, Seth. I am still here loving you. I went back to get my GED, and enrolled at the nearby Community College and took my own interest, might, heart, soul, mind and spirit and applied myself. I went online classes. I took myself to a place called 'Zoom' that only existed in the future, and during the past, was just a way to meet other people for office meetings. It is now WORLDWIDE, and EDUCATIONAL and Chinese people made it. 

 

I know you are wondering if I'm Latina or Asian. Perhaps I was just a fictional rape victim and perhaps I was just a figment of your imagination of a fan girl. I was and always will be a female who was hurt, and had a way out because someone loved me. My Dad became sober. He still works at Target and so do I. I was 17 and now I became older, and A LOT wiser. I also work at Target, and I have pride in it. I was homeless at Covenant House, but now I am not. I was hurt, and now, I am stable. I was broken, but I am patched with gold in the between spaces where doubt, negativity, and hatred lived. 

 

I was a person who didn't like others because I let the rapists hurt me and inflicted hatred and racism, and abuse and he was physically and verbally abusive, and I was hurt by more than just Jack. That was his name, but it really wasn't in the name, it was in his heart. Yet, my heart never succumbed to his that he wanted me to have.

 

I never took the rapists's garbage, instead I worked on my own and decided that within my hardship, was my genius. That with time, I will become an even greater genius. I was cooked, hard boiled, and deep fried, Seth, by people who weren't chefs or tasteful. You know what happened? I became shredded meat. But, I was so fully loved, not by my own doing, but by God and by my Dad, and my family, and Joey, and my friends at Target that I know how to cook now. I became the chef, and pastries are my friend. I wasn't too dumb to realize that the perpetrator's cooking of my life was scrap from the can. I constructively re-invented myself. I fully went online and took classes, some I even took because The Christmas Spirit stayed inside my heart and mind and soul all year long, that the messages and the methods of their madness completely transformed me.

 

My brain wasn't crazy, Seth. It was harmed, I have to say, but it wasn't psychotic and violent. I never killed a bear because I was assaulted, and I have never shot an animal or a human being or used a gun because I was assaulted. I never physically harmed another, although I was beaten and violated. I didn't call anyone any worse names that you would call a hater, I uttered words of anger, but never acted upon it. I wrote it down and the ones I spoke out, was in self-defense. God saw all these actions, and I will safely say it now, and forever to God be my witness....I became anti-violence, because I was, am, and will always be...loving and kind. 

 

I also became more than just a creative, Seth. I have goals, hopes, dreams, and I know my Dad will always be with me, no matter how old I will be. My Dad works with me, and together we conquer tired lives at Target and spread the joy of everyday living. He is and will always be my hero. I will keep these love letters, and somehow, release them....one day.

 

Guess what, Seth....I will always love you, too. Instead of just keeping my whole heart to myself and denying others of my soulful love and kindness, I practice it.

 

Here is loving you, Seth.

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

 

The end.

August 18, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Since I lost Joey, I gained 25 pounds. It wasn't because I wanted to be like him, or miss him, but because (double negative) I was sad. 

 

The good thing was, my Dad came by to The Covenent House and he was sober.

 

We talked, and we watched a movie, and processed the whole thing.

 

"The Great Gatsby," he said. "There is my favorite person in there, Robert Redford."

 

"I wish it was a movie with Leonardo DiCaprio," I said.

 

"Maybe one day, there will be another The Great Gatsby movie with Leonardo in it," said my Dad.

 

"He's my dream," I told him. 

 

"I thought it was Sethy," said my Dad.

 

Seth, just a disclosure, I did think Leonardo is and was and will always be a hot specimen of a hunk. He's known that and he's talented, and I hope one day you'll have a talk show and have Leonardo on and talk about fandom and fan girls.

 

My Dad and I watched the movie and I've read the book, and it brought back some trauma. About Jack and about the past. Nick Carraway said, "You can't repeat the past," as he looked to Jay Gatsby in the garden and Jay Gatsby said, "Oh you're wrong. You can."

 

That scene reminded me of how I was so in love with Jack and how the brought me to his villa in Breckenridge and told me that his ancestors created the telescope. I won't be able to recreate that, but the assault underneath the bleachers came into my mind at least once a day, and I didn't want it to come back.

 

It's about the mind, Seth. The past could only be created if we still persist on it. It was all a thought that has gone haywire, unprocessed, and unhealed because it was unhealthy. Let's say I proposed to Jack, and he said, "Oh, sure, ok." But we never married because things fell apart, I will have to keep going, Seth. Especially if he became a married man. I won't be able to do what Jay Gatsby did, own a mansion and became a bootlegger, that part would be impossible. The part that would be possible, I won't ever do. I won't try to lure my former boyfriend who became married back to me.

 

First part was, because I was assaulted (by Jack) and even if Jack didn't assault me, I still won't be able to rewind the past and go back to Jack because he would have moved on with his life, especially if he told me he's moved on. Second part was, because I would retrigger myself all the time with the traumas. It would rewind the PTSD and Depression all over again, and I won't be able to do anything right.

 

In the movie, The Great Gatsby, Jay Gatsby had killed Myrtle through a car accident, and he became the victim of Myrtle's crazy husband who shot him to death in the pool behind his house. I won't ever hope for this to happen to me, and I won't want this for my life at all. I learned so much from this movie, Seth. First, don't have a house that big without a camera where you won't know there was a man with a gun coming into your house. Second, just don't own a property near your ex-boyfriend because he might make your life miserable. Third, don't party that much like Jay Gatsby and invite too many people that no one remembered you even if there was a funeral and you're in the casket. Just invite the important people in your life and keep it simple for yourself.

 

I learned so much with this movie, Sethy, and my Dad said, "I really hope Leonardo DiCaprio will star in the next one with his best friend, who's that guy that kiss some crazy lady upside down? Yeah, you like him, right, Mary?"

 

"Tobey Maguire," I answered. "Yeah, I hope they'd sell box office and blow shit out of the park!"

 

That was my wish, Sethy, and since it's 2010, maybe you might be able to make that happen by 2022 (2 extra years after 2020 - because things might blow up this year). I also hope that you won't be a statistic of gun violence like Jay Gatsby. Overall, Sethy, my Dad and I bonded, and we talked about trauma processing, and how I would be able to move on from a decrepit bottomless pit of depression to the upper echelon of West Egg, inside my mind.

 

The truth was, Seth, it has been difficult for me to stay alive. I have negative thoughts all day and it became pervasive when there would be hard things for me to face, such as a friend's suicide. The assault by Jack made me think of the times I wanted to marry a loving husband. Now, it felt impossible, because I felt disabled by my trauma and the thoughts of self-harm became one of the hardest things for me to face each week or month. 

 

Watching The Great Gatsby, reminded me of that scene with Nick Carraway with Jay Gatsby inside the house, in the garden, and also the ending was so poignant that I won't ever want to be like him. I wish for good things for myself, and a loving life. I wished for my Dad to be sober forever, and I believe in him.

 

I won't join Joey, no matter how bad things will be inside my New Jersey mind. I won't be scared (or at least try to be brave) and try with all of my might to survive on my own; even if my Dad kicked me out when he has his bouts of alcoholism. I won't try to move to New York, because I know I'm not meant to be here. I ran away, and I ended up homeless here in Covenant House. I won't escape my problem, instead work things out, as long as Jack and his family won't try to harm me. If there was anything I would ask of you, would be to pray for me. For a thriving success of a future, and if God wills it, true love.

 

 

New York, New York. Empire State of Mind,

WishesOoohWishes.

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.

 

May 13, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Seth, I figure it was his smile, Jack's, and his puppy dog eyes that got me, but his face and our kisses were inside my dreams. I'm not sure if it should be called a nightmare because he assaulted me, but I'm worried that I won't ever meet anyone who would love me because of the assault. Joey asked me all of these questions and we had a yogurt and milk conversation at the cafeteria after therapy.

 

"Why do you like him?" asked Joey.

 

"He's historical, at least that's what he told me," I answered.

 

"Define historical...who was his Dad?" asked Joey, taking a dollop of yogurt on his spoon into his mouth. "This is all pro-biotic, right. So I'm going to at least fart with this?"

 

"He said his ancestors created the first telescope," I replied. "I think you'd go to the bathroom after three hours at least. Don't worry, you're going to lose weight. We'll make it a goal."

 

"What? He's one of the Three Wisemen from Ancient Middle East?" asked Joey, flabbergasted.

 

"What? I think Jack was part English and the other part Italian," I said.

 

"But......oh okay, are you sure Italians weren't making pasta during that time? It could be true," asked Joey.

 

"He specifically said, TELESCOPE!" I said, frustrated. I was worried and annoyed because I had to rehash what Jack and I spoke about in Breckenridge during our first sexual experience. It was so romantic, the stars were outside and we looked out of the window and he spoke about his ancestors.  "Jack said his ancestor found a meteor and that's how his great great great great great great great great grandfather knew it was going to be epic."

 

"Do you really believe him? I think he was trying to get into your panties," said Joey. "You're blind aren't you?"

 

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

 

"You're pretty, Mary," said Joey. "It would take a special person to be with you, someone with a very attractive personality and charm and heart. But, you've sold yourself to easily."

 

"My Dad is not exactly historical and I work at T-Bell," I answered.

 

"It's the quality, Mary. Not just the money, and I admit, it helps, but girls with bad hearts have money just the same," said Joey. "A lot of them call me Fat Joey and I'd oblige to their name calling and believe it's comedy, but it's bullying. You're not like them. You actually wanted to be my friend."

 

"I'd love you even if you're on a wheelchair," I said. 

 

He took my neck and clenched it and pretended to choke me, and said, "Stop that shit!"

 

"Oh Sorry....just sayin, I'd be your friend even when things are worse," I said. 

 

"YOU'RE HOMELESS!" said Joey. I shrugged my shoulders. He shook his head and finished his yogurt. "Besides, Jack is still a rapist."

 

"An Elite Rapist," I said. 

  

"King David, a King, raped a woman because she took a damn shower. His son, Ammon, or Amsterdam, who was also a King, raped Tamar, and she was just some girl with a bowl of soup. King David later wrote the Psalms, but he got killed and eaten by dogs, and his psycho son got killed by Tamar's brother, Absalom," said Joey. "They will have what's coming. Let me tell you that! And it don't matter who their ancestors were, it's all coming to him."

 

"Wow....you're smart, Joey," I said, in awesome wonder of Joey's biblical knowledge.

 

"Mary, you've gotta get deep therapy and heavy therapy," said Joey. "Do you know there are worse things that could have happened to you? Like being trafficked for a drug cartel for instance. There are crazier things in the world you know. It's the heart that makes a man, not his bloodline."

 

Since that moment on, I realized Joey and I could talk about anything. Not only because he would be honest to me, but also he would be a positive support for my mental health. Truthfully, I've never met anyone who became homeless because he was fat, but Joey told me the truth, he was kicked out by his Mom because she couldn't feed him anymore. It was that brutal.

 

There were other kids with sexual assault and other violence as the primary cause of their circumstances, and I wished I never had to witness it, but it's real, Seth. I was one of the many. 

 

YYYYOOOOUUUGGHHHUUUURRRRTTT,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

May 14, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Seth, to be honest, I think I'm insane. Who would run away from home? There was a comfortable bed and a fridge with food, although not much, but there were some burritos in there.

 

Some days, I wished I knew what I was doing in life. Other days, I wished I knew if my Mom thought of me when she abandoned me and my Dad. He called this morning and I accepted the call and spoke with him inside the administration office. 

 

"Come home, Mary," he said.

 

"I'm not sure if you really want me as your kid anymore," I replied. 

 

"Why do you think that?" he asked.

 

I was silent. I heard breathing for several minutes, and my Dad finally said, "I will call you back, soon. Just stay chaste and remember your rights and wrongs." He hung up afterwards.

 

Truthfully, I didn't know my Dad knew right from wrong. I felt like I was being the parent and I was helping him straighten things out. I wondered if he thought it was right to drink six beers in three hours after work in the evenings. I wondered if my Dad thought of me when he numbs his pain, and I wondered if my Mom wanted me when she lived in that house with my Dad.

 

I wondered if I was the child they wanted. That's how I felt growing up because my parents faught all the time that I wondered if they really wanted me in the first place, or if I was an accident and they didn't have a choice. I felt like the black cat or the black pig or that white owl that everyone saw and talked about after someone died. 

 

I ended up crying underneath the table, and Sister McGeady came to the help me.

 

"Get up, Mary," she said, her head poking out in my vision.

 

"I don't want to go home," I answered.

 

"You're a smart girl, you can start over and renew your life," she said. "You can stay here as long as you need."

 

No one ever told me I was smart. I had to be homeless to find out I was smart. 

 

"Am I really smart, Sister?" I asked her.

 

"You chose us, instead of drugs, or exploiting yourself, so yes, you're smart. There are worse cases than you," said Sister McGready. 

"Everyone told me that. There are worse things than me. In my world....I am garbage," I said to her, my tears and snot dripping all over my chin.

 

Sister McGeady said something that helped me, Seth, and I never knew this was true, because I thought of Jack when she said it. "No humans can be garbage," said Sister McGready. "Garbage is for dead objects only. Living things, breathing things, humans, animals, and plants cannot be garbage. It's a common misconception."

 

I realized she was right. There was a lift to my shoulders and the burden over my back broke to pieces and evaporated in the air. I felt free and justified to speak to her.

 

She looked into my eyes, and told me something that I realize was true about myself, but I never knew, "Girls have the royal bloodline. Boys cannot have give birth, but girls can. It's boys who needs girls and it's men who need women. From now on, that's the world you live in. You're ROYAL."

 

There was a strength in me, that made me realize I was needed in this world. I was irreplaceable and important, not because I can give birth, but because I felt stronger than Jack. I felt stronger than the rapist. For once, I felt stronger than rape.

 

"I've accidently aborted, Sister McGeady," I confided in her.

 

"I know, but it was the STI that made you do so, it was a choice made for you," she said. 

 

"I still felt hurt and I think it was my fault," I said.

 

"It's not," said Sister McGeady. "You'll have to repeat it over and over again. The trauma is bigger than you right now. You couldn't handle it, but slowly you can heal from it. You have to rely on the system to help you. It wasn't your fault."

 

I didn't realize that there was such a thing as "the system." I still didn't know much in this world. I didn't know about the system, how the system worked, what the system entailed, and how to help myself with it and through it.

 

"Such things as healthcare, well being, mental health, stability, financial freedom, and so many things isn't in the radar of any teens, and teens aren't known to have the knowledge at these points in life," said Sister McGeady. "Age makes a big difference. You are too young to handle the level of sexual relationship you had. There wasn't enough guidance involved, and your mind and emotions didn't grow as mature yet to handle that. Then there was the trauma, your body was too young. I don't blame you at all. It wasn't your fault."

 

"Is this all my Dad's fault?" I aked. "I don't want to blame him for everything, and I already blame him for his addiction. And it was Jack who raped me."

 

"I want to make sure you're going to learn while you're here," said Sister McGeady. "Not only about unconditional love, but of a life that's perhaps new, out of the box, fresh, and safe."

 

"I want to learn, Sister," I told her. She nodded, and wrote a number, one million, on a piece of paper.

 

Seth, I wish you could see her, in her jeans and sweater, Sister McGeady was magical.

 

 

Going on a field trip,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

 

May 10, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I wished no one would judge me. Ever since I was little since my Mom left me, I felt like the whole world has been judging me. It felt that way because I think no one cared about my behavior, and I had to be the good girl to help raise my Dad. He was just a kid too, I think.

 

My Dad looked lost most of the time and I felt lost all the time with him. We talked about rent, making ends meet since I was young. We weren't always at the house. We moved several times from one apartment to another. We've never really owned any townhome or a house. We just called every place our "house." We liked to pretend we owned it, although I saw my Dad sold his guitar, his leather jacket, his watch, his radio and his bicycle to pay the bills. Ever since I saw my Dad did that, I didn't want to feel like his ball and chain, or his debt to God. I wanted to pull my own weight, so I worked as soon as I could.

 

Seth, the judging thing....I wondered why I felt this way. Joey said he didn't care if people judged him for his weight. He said, "Judgements are comfort for the judge, not the victim. We have to stop caring." I'm not made like him. I cared too much about what other people think because I've been so self conscious since I'm not made normal, with a normal house, normal family, normal upbringing, normal mental health. I felt like judgements fueled me to keep working, and when I spoke with Joy, she said, "So you always wanted to impress everyone to feel like one of the 'normal' people or the accepted person?"

Seth, you know what my answer was. If you were in my shoes, what would you do, Sethy? Even in writing, I wanted to impress you, even when you're not even here. That's how bad it got.

 

Joy told me that we were going to start on Crisis Intake Plan, and to walk down my goal plans, and my journeys, my hopes, my fears, my therapies and my desires to heal. I never thought that far. I just always wanted to please Jack, or actually, whoever paid attention to me at the time.

 

The rest of the time with Joy, during therapy, she told me a story.

 

The story was about a man with an old couch. Joy said this man always stopped by 7-11 and bought himself a soda with his dollars, and he'd put his change insde his pockets. He never took care of himself and just kept drinking sodas, eating junk from 7-11. He'd pass out on his couch while watching television every night, and often his coins would fall out, but he didn't care. He left all of his coins that fell out of his pockets inside the couch. 

 

One day, a kid next door came by wanting to sell some chocolates for his middle school fundraiser. The man said, "Sorry, kid. I need the money for myself." And the kid almost cried because it was his middle school fundraiser and he wanted to win a prize.

 

"Please, sir. Have you checked your couch. Maybe you have some loose change somewhere in the couch?"  The man had on a dirty shirt, untucked, with soda stains and Cheetos in his hair. He replied to the kid, "Sure, I'll go search for some change. Be right back," and so he searched for change, and of course, he found A LOT of change. 

 

He found Quarters, Silver Dollars, Dimes, Nickels, that some parts of the couch were hard because the coins were many and the couch was old. He said, "Oh my Lord, I'm actually rich!" 

 

The kid smiled, and said, "You are, you're just putting your money in the wrong places." The man looked to the kid, and said, "You know what, kid. I'm going to change, no pun intended, but I'm gonna."

 

"But, I hope you haven't forgotten about the chocolates that I'm selling," said the kid. 

 

"No, I won't forget because you made me look for change, that I realized I've wasted all of my monies and time on this couch when I could have saved up, cleaned up, changed up, shape up, and become rich," said the man. He gave the kid, $10 dollars but didn't take any chocolates, instead, he closed the door, showered, changed his clothes, and tried to find a job. 

 

Joy said that the point of the story was, that the man realized his potential, although he lost all those coins inside his own couch, it could have been worse, he could've lost his life from heart attacks, or getting shot at 7-11 when he was getting some Coca-Cola. But, because of the eye of the innocent, he saw the truth, and he was rich. Rich with potential, rich with the future, and rich with his possibilities. He had what a lot of people didn't have. 

 

I supposed, I was that way too. I supposed, even with the abortion, the assault, the low income, and the bipolar depression, I had something of worth inside of me that I didn't see before. 

 

I'm going to find out,

WishesOoohWishes.

 

May 12, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Yesterday, Joy and I took a walk with Joey and Jenna. Jenna was raped when she was little. Seth, is 17 considered young to be a rape victim? How old can a rape victim be, Sethy? How young is young to be raped, and how old is old to be raped? 

 

Jenna was 10. I thought that was pretty young, don't you think? She said her Dad sold her to his friends to get some drugs. She used to live with him, but she was always spending nights at other men's homes to pay for her Dad's debt. She told me that one time she had her period and a man still had sex with her, until she was pregnant, and later on, she had an abortion. 

 

I realized that some lives are worth saving, like Jenna's. Although she was hurt so bad, but like we talked about before, her potential was great, because she kept on living, and I gave her credit for that. I think that was the point that Joy, Joey and Jenna wanted me to understand, that I needed to keep going. 

 

If there was a time when I felt small, it was this time with Jenna. It's not that she made me feel worthless, but she made me realize that I was one form of assault victim, but a power of one amongst many to survive the trauma. I mean, there are so many victims that we're not alone, but because of that, I was suppposed to be powerful to survive the trauma with them. Do you get what I mean, Seth? It's truly not as complicated as Drunk Uncle. Sometimes, I don't understand him.

 

"What made you think that you've had the worst life, so far, Mary?" asked Jenna.

 

"I feel like I've killed a baby," I said.

 

"Was it your decision?" asked Jenna.

 

"Yes, it was to save myself," I said. I felt like the selfish loser, and an idiot who won't ever deserve to be a Mother again.

 

"I did the same," said Jenna.

 

I was flummoxed and my mouth gaped open. 

 

"You didn't think I was barren while I was being trafficked, did you?" said Jenna. "Do you know how many women get abortions each year?"

 

I was silent. If I had a choice, it was to NEVER have an abortion. If I had a choice, I NEVER wanted to be raped. 

 

Joy finally broke the silence, "It is always a case by case situation, Mary," she said. I didn't understand Joy. "I thought it was pro-life or pro-choice. I felt pro-wrong," I said.

 

Joey pointed to the building we were passing by, "Look at the windows in this building, they are so huge," he said. "Do you think rich people get abortions? What made them do it? And do they live in this building?"

 

Joy looked up, and said, "I don't judge a woman on abortion. Whether she choses to keep or abort the baby. I choose to love her, especially if it's a case of abuse or biological anomalies."

 

"I wished I didn't do it," I said. 

 

"It was the thing that saved me," said Jenna. 

 

"I choose to not blame the woman for it, so I choose to not blame you, Mary, for saving yourself," said Joey. "If there was a place who could save your baby, such as adoption, I would have brought that up to you too."

 

"I didn't want to make another orphan in this world," I said. "I didn't want a reminder of Jack's rape in my life."

 

"I choose to love you,, Mary," said Joy. "I would never blame a woman on that. I've never been pregnant and I've never been in your shoes."

 

"It was the thing that saved me," said Jenna, her eyes in tears. "I couldn't survive knowing I bore a child from the human trafficking."

 

"I still felt wrong," I said.

 

"One day, you will right the wrong," said Joey. "It's not penance, but transformation. Perhaps you will adopt or have your own child. And even if you don't, you can help women in these tough situations."

 

"It was the thing that saved me," said Jenna. "I wanted to end my life, although I was bearing a human life from the assault."

 

"If I was a teen pregnancy case, I might choose differently," I said. "Or, if I was rich, I might choose differently."

 

"If you were a teen pregnancy case, I choose to love you as a teen Mom, and if you decide to abort, I would love you as a woman," said Joy. "Some people say that it is a right or wrong choice, but that's too extreme. It has to be a case by case basis. If a woman can still have the child, she would realize her world will change drastically and will physically need to work on it. If a woman decides to abort, she has to realize her mental health and spirit will be changed drastically and she will have to heal from it. It's a matter of which of the two you're capable of, and it is a case by case basis."

 

"It was the thing that saved me," said Jenna, and by this time, her sobs needed tissues, and she added, "It was at the point of when the baby lives, I will die, and there was no one to take care of either of us."

 

 

Joey's eyes were in tears, as he said, "I've never realized the suffering all women carried in life, even as little girls, teens and later on, as women. And here I am, just sad because I'm fat and homeless."

 

"We can't always blame everything on Eve. Like rape for instance," said Jenna.

 

"I just wished more men were responsible and kind," I said. "So women didn't have to bear all of the suffering of childbirth. The world needs more compassionate men."

 

Joey wiped his tears, and said, "I'm gonna need some chocolate cake later. And then I'll send a prayer request to Sister McGeady for true love for everyone." 

 

Joy and I laughed, and Jenna hugged Joey around his stomach. We walked nearly six miles just talking about righting the wrongs we've done, and if we would ever get into heaven. But, I just knew that I won't make a good Jesus.

 

I wonder if God forgives me, Seth,

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 24, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I lost my senses of space and time, but I knew it was April and it was the last few weeks of it. The last time I wrote to you, I had $500 in my wallet and took out all of it from the mac machine, and I met a girl at a train station who told me that she would help me. I told her if she has a sofa for me to crash in, and she told me it was okay and she lived alone.

 

We went to her apartment in Greenwich Village and it was a nice place with a nice entrance with a gate and she had a window facing a sandwich shop. She told me she wanted me to go to a local hospital and get checked in, but she can't help me further after that. I didn't want to go, and all I wanted was to go to the Rockefeller Plaza and meet you. 

 

She told me that it wasn't far and I asked her if she would be able to help me. She then asked me if she knew anyone there, and of course I said I would love to know all of the SNL cast. She asked if I was a writer and I told her that I had a working journal of you with all of my experiences. She asked me to read it and I gave it to her and she told me that this was valuable. I was wondering what she meant about that, and it turns out that she was a writer. Her name was Jamila.

 

Jamila worked for some offshore magazine in London she said, and she gets to work remotely because she is covering fashion. I believed her and judging on how her apartment looked, it was nice and I presumed she earned her monies from that job well. 

 

Long story short, I slept over on her couch and the next morning she gave me an everything bagel and cream cheese. I thought everything was okay but she asked me if she can read this journal. I told her that it was private and she offered to edit it and turn it into a book. Inside my chest was a pounding anxiety that was peeking out in twitches on my face.

I didn't want her to read it. 

 

"But I let you stay and you were homeless at the train station," Jamila said. "It's the least you could do."

 

"It's private and I'm not trying to turn it into a book. It's a private journal and it's not about you, how would you fit into the picture of the book if you were to write it? I'm not comfortable," I told her.

 

"Just let me read it. I won't do anything," Jamila said.

 

"Promise you won't sell it?" I said.

 

"Promise, and as a matter of fact, I will still edit it if you'd like," said Jamila.

 

So I gave her this large notebook journal type of thing with lined pages inside full of writings and scribbles and there was a penciled caricature of you in a big heart with an arrow, and of course, Alexi's name was on your shirt. I found out several days ago that you're dating. I'm okay with it.

 

Jamila read some of the pages and she nearly cried. "These are really good," said Jamila. "You should really think about becoming a writer."

 

My eyes became moist and I began to cry because all I wanted to write about was about Jack and my heartbreaks and how I was assaulted. "I'm poor and my Dad is an alcoholic," I replied.

 

"Let me do something with this," said Jamila.

 

"You promised, you won't hurt me," I said.

 

"Let me bring this to my editor and we'll talk," said Jamila.

 

"I am the author of it," I said.

 

"I can help you," said Jamila.

 

So I let her take the journal and she said she will be back in the evening after work. I waited and waited and she came back about 8 in the evening, and I was so worried she stole my journal. 

 

"I want to publish this and we can co-author," said Jamila.

 

"It's mine, and it's worth my life," I said.

 

She persisted to tell me that her editor wanted the book and it can be published in England and it would be an offer I can't refuse but the author would be Jamila and I was second author, but that's not what I wanted to do with my life at this time. I wanted to meet you.

 

"Let me pay you for staying here," I said.

 

"You can't afford this place," said Jamila.  "Just work with me on the journal and we call it even."

 

"You're a swindler," I told her. My chest was pounding and I could feel my blood rising. I knew it would take work for this journal to become a reality but I wasn't about to let someone else take control of it. It was my journey. I was the author of this life.

 

"You're homeless. You will get beat up in a couple of days and no one will save you. With me, you'll get second author," said Jamila.

 

I took my wallet and gave her $100.

 

"All of it," said Jamila.

 

"What do you mean?" I said. 

 

"How much do you have in there?" asked Jamila. "I could call the cops on you, right now and send you to a mental psych ward," said Jamila.

 

"Please don't, I thought you were nice," I said.

 

"I was, and I offered you a deal that you shouldn't refuse," said Jamila.

 

"I can only give you $100," I said.

 

"All of it, however much you have in your wallet, and get the fuck out of here," said Jamila.

 

"I don't have much," I told her. I took out another $100, and she pushed me down and kicked my waist and took my wallet and all the money inside it. She then took my backpack and threw it outside the window. 

 

"Get the hell out of here, and leave your journal here," said Jamila.

 

I wanted to punch her face and I was about to, when she took my punch and she pushed my face and kicked me again and took my journal and I grabbed it away from her, and told her, "This belongs to me, and don't hurt me. I didn't do anything," I screamed.

 

"Bitch, get the hell out of here, and give me your wallet, of I'll call the cops for breaking and entering," said Jamila.

 

I knew the cops won't believe the homeless girl, so I took my journal and left her apartment as she slammed the door on my face and I walked out and took my backpack and left Greenwich Village. I didn't know where I was when I left, but I knew that the sandwich shop was across the street. 

 

I told the guy at the sandwich shop and he said, "You're dumb. You should have kicked her ass. You're out of luck."

 

I just lost my cool and started screaming at him, "You bastard! I just told you that I was hurt and you called me names, you asshole!"

 

He then got out of the counter line and told me, "You need to get out or I'll call the cops and I'll have you sent to jail for disturbing an establishment and harassing me."

 

I cried and ran out with my backpack with the journal on my chest, and walked to a nearby wall around the corner. I just sobbed. This all happened in the span of two days and I just wanted to end my life. 

 

But, the whole time, the bitch writer's words lingered in my head, "You should really think about becoming a writer." For some reason I took it as a lesson to not trust anyone, and to not trust even the kindest soul who told you to trust them. If a person was to be trusted, they would earn it and they'd show they are worthy of trust. I found out. They won't say, Trust me, I'm trustworthy. But, it was too late. I lost all of my savings to save my journal and my dignity and myself. I would rather "die that to have the bitch publish it under her name. This journey was mine and mine alone. I was the author of my life.

 

 

 

April 26, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Sorry for the long break. I needed it. It felt like a couple of days had gone by, but as I said, I lost my senses of space and time because everything was about numbers and years and times and I just hate it. I just wanted to be lost in space, but then I'd be a space cadet, so I decided to take another break from writing to you just to recollect my mind.

 

I walked by the 9/11 memorial and it was already built. I slept on the bridge of it, where it connects to the street. I figured it was monitored and a lot of people always walked by, so I took a six hour nap there and it was freezing but I had my jacket and used my backpack as a pillow. An officer walked by and woke me up. 

 

"You're mighty young to be sleeping on the street," said the Police Officer. "Can we talk for a minute?"

 

"I'm sorry officer, I didn't want to be home anymore. I was asaulted," I said. 

 

"By a parent? Your dad?" he asked. I looked at his eyes and he looked kind, a tall black man with big eyes, a little on the husky side.

 

"No, it was an ex-boyfriend. My Dad is an alcoholic. He doesn't know I'm here," I said. 

 

"Come with me for a minute and we'll get you settled in, I won't do anything. I just need to help you get off the street," he said. 

 

"If you know of a shelter or a place to stay, officer. I'd stay there," I said. 

 

"Why are you holding that book to your chest like that?" asked the officer.

 

"This is my SNL journal," I said. "I write to Seth Meyers almost every day."

 

"Ooooohhhhh.....Saturday night live," he said. "I see.....you're a huge fan I see."

 

"Since I was little, officer. Do you know Seth?" I asked him, hoping he would take me to officially become a guest to the Rockefeller Plaza and finally become an SNL audience.

 

"No, of course not," he said, with a smile. "You know....they're real people, and they have real lives. But, I don't think they'd let anyone to be their friends. They're sort of....celebrities."

 

I felt my eyes drooped down and faced the asphalt. I knew my dreams of the SNL cast as the nicest people on Earth was probably out of reach and perhaps unreal. I should have known that you were all celebrities and won't meet homeless teens like me who was crazy and probably mentally depressed.

 

"If I can get you a place to stay, would you come with me? It will be at a teen shelter or something like that," said the officer.

 

"Yeah, I would come with you," I said. 

 

"Good, let's get you to a safer place," he said.

 

I took my backpack and my journal, although my dreams of meeting you, Seth Meyers, was no longer within reach, I was willing to give survival a try.

 

 

 

April 27, 2010.

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I haven't watched SNL for a very long time. Weeks and months since I was assaulted and last night, I slept in the Police Station that was smaller than most, and it felt like a small shop rather than a police station. Everyone of every kind came in, and sat on the bench next to me. A man with a squirrel and a big bite mark on his face sat down and I had to step aside because his pet looked like it was infested with rabies. I never knew squirrels were pets.

 

A prostitute came in with her pumps and red stockings and see through dress. She wore that underwear that showed your butt. It must be very uncomfortable. And a man in his cowboy outfit without pants was standing handcuffed to his girlfriend both in their underwear were standing in front of the administration desk. They must have had a costume party somewhere and I was not invited. I won't come with them if I were invited, because they smelled like a joint and it stinks like a skunk.

 

I still didn't know what day it was and the officer who took me, came back several times and told me, "Just sit tight, and I'll be back."

 

He finally came back with some paper work. He gave me a paper with a printout of a map directions and he showed me a place for girls. It was Covenant House. It was on 41st Street, and I was supposed to go there. 

 

"I'll get you a cab and I'll get you the fare. Just don't wander around but just go straight there, and meet Sister Rose McGeady," said the officer.

 

"Sister McGeady, ... a nun?" I asked. 

 

The officer smiled, and said, "Yes. But she's not mean. She's really nice."

 

He took out a small pocket sized book, entitled Sometimes God has a Kid's Face, and Sister Mary Rose McGeady was the author. "Read this for me," said the officer.

 

The officer left and called the cab for me, and I read the first few pages during the wait.

 

When the cab arrived, my eyes were red from the tears that just flowed out of love for the homeless. I didn't feel homeless, because I walked out of my own home. I felt I deserved it. I knew it was wrong, but I didn't know how to shake off the feeling of anger and bitterness and self-righteousness out of me. 

 

I took the cab and during the drive there, I thought about you, Seth Meyers, and wondered if we would ever meet. Perhaps one day, but I knew I wanted to meet Sister Mary Rose McGeady too. Perhaps, she could save my life.