Apparently we had to write autobiographical essays sophomore year of high school, because I also found this glued into my journal:





Yep, that pretty much sums up my teen years. This actually makes me supersupersuper hopeful for the future. If I can look back on the person I was a few years ago and feel bemused at how pathetic my life was, I'm hoping that, years from now, I'll look back at my current situation (which seems pretty great) and realize how far I've come from where I currently am. My life will be so grandiose that I'll be amazed at how lame I was when I was 21.

Fuck. How am I still alive? When I was in 8th grade I started keeping a journal, and even though I rarely add to it now, I decided to go back and read some of my thoughts from my early teen years. It's the most depressing thing ever. Each page is filled with more and more discontent and misery, and I honestly don't know how I avoided suicide through all those years. I'm not asking for pity here, but I'm honestly shocked. For the past year or so I've been so happy that I forgot how depressed I was in all my years previous. I've never shared a single word from my journals with anyone, but I kind of feel like sharing my poor teenage angst here now, because, let's face it, I'm feeling sorry for myself! Not who I am now, but who I was. Poor little baby Crystal. In the midst of my Aero-obsession, at age 16, I wrote a journal entry on the 19th birthday of Joe Perry's son, Tony.

--
4:50 PM
Where will I be when I'm nineteen? At the same college my mom went to, living at home, with no friends, a virgin, afraid of the city, still not looking like Bobbie Brown. I'll be studying how to teach kindergarteners the days of the week because they'll be the only people in this world who don't intimidate me. I'll be such a lame loser that I'll even make fun of myself, staring for hours into the mirror. This is not who I want to be but I realize that it's totally inevitable. My face always turns red and it never even gives me a chance.

So where is Tony now that he's nineteen? I hope he's living his dream. He deserves it more than me.
--

Page after page after page goes on like that. Most of the entries are more descriptive and dramatic, but they're too personal to post. After reading over all this, I truly cannot discount the importance of Lexapro. That, and actually having noteworthy accomplishments to my own credit. I'm happier than I've ever been, and it's astonishing to me, when I look back and see how miserable I was for so long, that I made such a complete change in such a short time. I ended one of my entries from 2006 by saying, "I just really hope that there comes a point in my life when I can look back on all this and laugh." But I don't laugh. It's depressing.

But I also learned that I claimed the name Cristal Diamante for myself on November 30, 2004, while sitting at the new computer and testing out the fonts. That's cool.

I really hate being at my parents' house because it's impossible for me to fall asleep at night without thinking about how much I miss my dog Tanner and fighting back tears for a long time until I eventually get exhausted or find some distraction. It's been almost two years since he died but it just doesn't stop hurting. I don't have this problem when I'm in Keith's bed, because it's not the house where I lived for nine years with Tanner and anyway I'm not alone. Keith is right there next to me and I don't have a reason to feel lonely. But when I'm alone in my bed, I have nothing to think about besides how badly I want Tanner with me, and there's no comfort. Death is the worst thing, because of its permanence. There's no resolution to the loss of a loved one. It's not just a temporary inconvenience. It's a big hole in your heart, an inconsolable hurt that will never ever go away. I remember vividly how it felt to wrap my arms around him and squeeze myself against his big furry chest, and I can only experience it as a painful memory. He's not here anymore, I can't hug him, and that void is so big and so strong that I can't help being overpowered by it. When we first brought Tanner home, I cried myself to sleep because I knew already that when he died someday, it would destroy me. I knew that I would have an emptiness inside me that could never be filled, and that I would have to go through all my years missing the best friend I'd ever known.

This is the baby that came into my life and filled me with a kind of love and happiness I never would have felt otherwise.

Dearest 1000 W Washington Lofts,

Oh, my darling, I miss you so. How I long to be near you once again. My heart aches for your high ceilings, your exposed duct work, your wrought iron railings. My beautiful, beautiful sweetheart, I close my eyes and see your glass-tiled walls. Every moment that passes feels like an eternity without you. Until we meet again, my love, you'll be in my dreams each night.

Sincerely yours,
Crystal


On Friday I did another fashion show for JM Couture, and I went to the designer Jim's amazing condo to get ready. I was stunned, and I feel like I now have a better idea of where I belong. Fuck California, I can weather the winters for this. I acknowledge that I'll never be able to afford the $1+ million penthouse lofts like the one he lives in, but I can settle for one of the stripped and gutted one-bedrooms for half the price. I'm realistic that way.

















Oh, and hopefully I'll get some of the fashion show pictures soon.

I'm meeting so many nice people these days. I didn't know so many nice people under 50 existed, but they do. At the JM Couture/Lovers Lane show on Saturday, all the girls were so unbelievably sweet. For some reason I've always been surrounded by snobby bitches in the past, but these girls were the nicest girls ever and they helped me prepare for the show by analyzing my walk and giving me pep talks. They were just so friendly and accepting. Even when they were critiquing me, they weren't being judgmental. I was pretty blown away.

Not only that, but the people at my school are really nice too. So many people smile at me when I walk down the hall. People I hardly even know say hi to me when I walk by. I chat with people in class and they listen to what I say. I get invited to meetings and events and lunch and the mall. It's amazing. I've never encountered so many nice people before.

I have no energy left now that he’s gone. There’s no motivation for me, nothing left to look forward to until I’m with him again. There’s no reason to get out of bed, but even my bed feels bad because I got used to him being there. It’s silent in the house and I feel completely isolated. I hate how weak I become when he’s not around. He’s my only source of vitality now, because I love him more than words and he’s the reason behind everything I do.

I woke up happy on Friday because I knew that he’d be coming to see me. I knew that we’d spend the next four days where I’m from, in the house I grew up in and the town I’ve always lived in, and I knew that him being there would suddenly make all that okay to me. I wanted to be here and experience it with him. I even cooked him my favorite childhood meal, tomato soup, acini de pepe noodles, and hot dogs (substituted with tofu dogs).

We went to the local pet shops where I spend my free time looking at the animals, and we picked out a white and yellow fish for my aquarium. There was a pretty ferret there and I was tempted to buy it just so I could feel its body in my arms. I miss the long slinky body and pointy bones. I miss the squirming and fidgeting.

At night we usually drank a lot, and on Saturday we decided to take copious amounts of Robitussin to enhance the experience. I had never done it before, but I ended up having quite a trip. The living room was dark except for the blue glow of the TV while I danced and sang to Def Leppard’s Hysteria album in a way that felt religious. All the songs seemed exceptionally long. As I listened, I became aware of the fact that I was going to die in my sleep, and that this was my last night on earth. I wasn’t happy about it, but I believed that it was inevitable and I asked him to promise me that he would make me famous after I was dead. Then I realized that he was an alien, and I didn’t like it because I just wanted him to be my boyfriend.

When I wasn’t tripping, I felt fantastic and took every excuse I could to hug him close to me. I was so happy that he seemed to feel at home, and when I went out for a model call I was comforted by the fact that he would be waiting for me when I got back. We made beautiful love as often as possible and he covered my body with more kisses than I can count. We cuddled and danced and sang songs and played video games and talked to my sister’s bird and cooked breakfasts and slept together in my tiny bed every night. I could do it over and over again.

Then he left, and I cried as I watched his car back down the driveway.