Ramona’s Diary: Entry 1: January 1. 1990.
Well, I finally moved in and even managed to make it on New Year’s Day just like I said I would. My asshole Parents couldn’t wait to get me out of the house. Well, the feeling was mutual. I’m happy to be away from them and finally be my own person. This place is nothing special but it’s nice enough. I’ve always had simple tastes anyway.
Is it lonely? Yeah but that’s how I like it. Peace, quiet and privacy. If I get really lonely, I can maybe just get a pet as this place allows them. Granted, I do sometimes crave a nice, hot, naked body next to mine when I go to bed and then wake up the next morning. Lord knows that I have my options. I don’t know what it is about goth girls that drives men wild but they’re all over me.
Still, a man has yet to really dazzle me just yet. We bi girls are complex and admittedly somewhat hypocritical. Like many bi girls, I have rather high expectations of men. With men, I want genuine romance but with women, I just want them to be hot and good in bed. Granted, I usually can’t stand other women due to how needy and bratty they can be. Maybe my expectations are too high but I guess I’ll never find Mr…or Ms. Right. Ah, well. I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.
Entry 2: January 31. 1990.
The people in this apartment building are real pieces of work. They all look at me like I’m a freak and barely even talk to me. I can’t even go out to buy groceries and do laundry without everyone staring at me like I’m dragging a corpse behind me. Am I overreacting? Maybe. I get that appearance can be striking but still. Or maybe they’re just staring at me with lust. In which case, I can hardly blame them. I am pretty stunning. I doubt any of them, man or woman can keep up with me though. My libido is crazy high. In those terms, a woman would probably be best for me but not just any woman. A woman who can keep me up all night. Maybe we can even make a competition out of it.
Only in my wildest dreams, I guess. What are the odds that another girl like me even exists, anyway? I’m one of a kind. Ideally, I’d want a blonde to offset my own raven hair. A girl with a nice rack, even if she doesn’t match up to my F cups. A plump, thick ass that I’d never get tired of squeezing and long, luscious hair that I could always stroke and pull when we fuck. Most importantly, she has to have a libido to rival my own. May seem like a lot but maybe a girl out there does exist.
Entry 3: February 7: 1990.
Well, it looks like my luck is finally turning around. Today, someone slipped a note under my door. Who, I don’t know but the message was an enticing one. There’s a Valentine’s Day party coming up next week at an old abandoned bar and it seems I’ve been invited. I know what you’re thinking. Red flags and I don’t blame you. I don’t know a single person’s name in this building or in the neighborhood besides my landlord and I doubt any of them know mine. That’s how withdrawn I am.
Normally, I’d just toss the invite in the trash. I hate parties. The noise, the crowds, the obnoxiousness of it all…but…I don’t know. I know that I said I like it better this way but I am starting to get a little lonely and depressed. I had a single dorm all to myself in College and now this apartment. The walls are starting to cave in on me. Sometimes it feels like this place is the entire world. It just gets tiring sometimes. I just want something more…even if it’s just for one day. I just don’t know.
Entry 4: February 14. 1990.
Well, today’s the big day. I’ve made up my mind. I’m going. I can’t live like a hermit forever. Maybe I’m not meant to be alone. Maybe I can find someone nice to settle down with. Someone to help me through life. Maybe have kids who can take care of me when I get old instead of being dumped at some rest home. Am I getting ahead of myself? Maybe but when I first moved in here, I wanted a fresh start but I couldn’t help but slip into my old habits of solipsism again. I don’t want that anymore. I want a new Ramona.
I looked at myself in the mirror lately and remembered just how smoking hot I am. I know for a fact that I could find someone special and this Valentine’s Party is my chance. A whole new world is about to open up to me and I can’t wait to explore it.
Entry 5: February 15. 1990.
The Valentine’s Party…didn’t go as planned. To put it mildly. In fact, it went so badly that I wasn’t even sure that I wanted to write about it but…I may as well start at the beginning.
As soon as I went inside the place, a rush of different emotions hit me like a truck. My senses were pounded by thumping music, flashing lights and beautiful people all around me in various states of undress and dancing. It was just so overwhelming. I don’t know if I was more nervous or excited but either way, I wanted more. I just felt so intoxicated with the whole thing.
I barely even had time to take it in before I felt a hand grab hold of my arm and pull me away. I noticed that it was a guy and he was dragging me backstage. I asked him what was going on, still struggling to get over the social awkwardness that has ruled me my entire life. He didn’t answer me. The next thing I knew, I was being pushed onto a stage and surrounded by people shouting at me to strip and dance for them. The invitation never said anything about this. If my social anxiety wasn’t off the charts before, it was skyrocketing now.
I could see faces all around me. Men and women. Shouting, cheering, booing, yelling commands at me…It almost made me want to faint. They were all demanding the same thing. Take off my clothes and do a dance for them. I came here just to find someone to hook up and hopefully settle down with. I wasn’t against messing around either but this…It was just too much. Every fiber of my being wanted to yell and cuss them all out…but I just couldn’t. Vertigo began to sink in as the boos rapidly took over the whole room. Eventually, some of them even started throwing things at me as the sounds of bottles breaking from either my left or right side filled my ears. I was now on the verge of a panic attack. All I could think to do was run as the sounds of booing and jeering were all I could hear. So, I did. I ran. First off of the stage and then off of the building.
I just ran until I made it home, locked the door and laid in bed as the night’s events sank in. I wanted to cry as I punched my bed with frustration. I was an idiot to even try this. I can’t believe how stupid I was. I should’ve known there was a catch. I felt like throwing up. All I can really do about it now though, is just move on and try to forget this whole thing and move on.
Entry 6: February 21. 1990.
A week has passed since you know what happened and try as I might, I just couldn’t forget about it. It’s not like the people around me were making it any easier though. I guess the assholes who set that whole thing up were so pissed that I bailed on them that they started spreading rumors about me. A few nights in a row, I came home to find words like “Slut!” and “Stripper!” spray painted on my door. I’ve received packages with lingerie with dollar bills slipped inside of them. My neighbors were ignoring me now more than ever and some of them were even shielding their kids’ eyes whenever I walked by. Assholes.
At one point, I even had a rock thrown at my window with a note. It was an address with some shitty pickup line next to it. I can’t go anywhere to escape this shit. I don’t exactly blend into a crowd and my reputation is spreading more and more by the day. Yesterday, I talked to my landlord about it and he told me that since the people doing this weren’t living in the building, there was nothing he could do. He suggested that I just move somewhere else but I had no money left after moving here. I’m so tired of this shit…I don’t know what to do.
Entry 7: February 28. 1990.
Another week has passed and it’s only gotten worse. The harassment from those weirdos and ostracization from my neighbors wasn’t going away. Word that I had performed at a strip club in this uptight, puritanical city had spread like wildfire. I’ve tried to get a job but I’ve yet to get a callback and my bills are starting to pile up. I don’t think I’ve ever been under so much stress in my entire life. Not even College at its worst was this bad.
I already had some misanthropic tendencies before but now? I think I wanted nothing more than for a meteor to just wipe out this shithole town and every miserable, obnoxious, self righteous cxnt in it! Myself included…That’s another thing too. I’ve been having disturbing thoughts lately…Thoughts that I don’t think I should be having. I don’t want to see a shrink, nor could I even afford one. This apartment is starting to feel like my jail cell more and more as time goes on. All I can do is hide in it and hope that everything will somehow be okay, against all odds when I wake up the next morning…but it never is. What am I going to do?
Entry 8: March 7. 1990.
Well…That’s it. I’ve still had no luck getting a job and now my landlord is threatening to evict me. He’s sick of the loudness and noise complaints from all the people harassing me. As if that’s my fault. He acts like he thinks getting me out of here is for my own good but all he really cares about is the bad rap it’s giving his place. So, what other options did I have? I just had to swallow my pride, call my parents and beg them to let me back home.
So, I did…Only to discover that my reputation as the town whore had spread so far that even they had heard of it. They were always uptight and puritanical but even I wasn’t expecting them to do what they did next. They disowned me. My Dad told me that he should’ve used a condom the night I was conceived…and my Mom told me to just run off with whatever sleazy dirtbag thought I was hot enough to keep around for a while. They both told me to never speak to them again.
I felt my whole world shrivel up and die at that moment. I actually ended up fainting inside of the phone booth…and as expected, no one in this cesspit town stopped to help. As I woke up and realized that…It became official. I was a full fledged misanthrope now. I hated humanity. I hated everyone and everything. I didn’t even care that I would have nowhere to live now…I just wanted to do something, anything to make the people around me regret how they had treated me…and I was starting to care less and less about what I had to do to make that happen.
Entry 9: March 17. 1990.
Three and a half months. That’s how long it took for my entire life to fall apart. I came home to find an eviction notice taped to my wall and went inside to find my entire place empty of everything I owned. That would’ve included this very diary too if I hadn’t been taking it everywhere with me. This book really has become my best friend. My only friend. And now…It’s all I have left. But who knows how much longer until I lose even that?
I slept on a park bench last night and woke up to find “skank” written on my face in magic marker. I was always a heavy sleeper…That was the final straw for me. I have nothing. No one. This book is all that’s left and I feel that keeping it around is pulling me back to the world that’s made me so miserable. So this will be my final entry. I’m going back to that ungodly apartment one last time where I’ll pack this book up in a box and hide it somewhere no one will find it. It will be my last memento. My final “fuck you” to this place and everyone in it.
If anyone finds it and reads all of this…Well, you’ll probably want to help me but it’s too late. I’ve made up my mind now. There’s nothing for me left in this world. Why keep punishing myself like this? Even if I go to Hell, that’s just where I’m already at. At least there’s a chance I’ll wake up in a better place. My mind is all over the place, wondering what I did to deserve any of this. It doesn’t matter now. My mind will be quiet soon enough. As will I. Forever.
I finished reading Ramona’s diary. As I closed the book, I felt like breaking down in tears. All I could think about was how horrible I had been to her. This is what she had been hiding from me all this time. I kept trying to make her revisit all of this…I understood it now. Ramona was a girl who lived in this very apartment 30 years ago and committed suicide after all she had been through. Her spirit had been chained here for some reason that even she didn’t know about.
I remembered how happy and content she seemed to be with me. It was probably the only happiness she had ever felt in her life. Or afterlife, rather. And I had ruined that. For her and for me. I still wasn’t on board with her plan but I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I could have handled it way better than I did. I felt as if I had given her hope only to crush it. Like I was dangling food in front of someone who was starving and then yanked it back before they could get it. Pierre could sense my guilt as he sat in my lap and snuggled up to me, snapping me out of it.
“Oh, Pierre…” I said sadly as I stroked him lovingly. “I…I have to find Ramona…No! I’m going to find Ramona! No matter where she is and I’m going to make this right!”
I was going to get my ghost girlfriend back and nothing was going to stop me!
