Marie 1973: December

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Monday, December 10th

Alexander called me at the office, pretending he was concerned about me. I have not yet called Suzanne R., the other therapist. Later in the day, Diana Her Sleaziness came and lurked around my desk, trying to be friendly. After she slithered off I realized Alexander has been talking to her about me — how dare he!

Phillip shooed her away from me, that was nice of him. I had briefly told him a few weeks ago I wasn’t seeing the psychiatrist anymore because he wanted me to take Valium. He replied that was better in the long run and that anyway, “everyone gets depressed sometime.” This ridiculously simple statement really did take a huge load off my mind. I mean — the fear that I might be insane.

Excess coffee-drinking, excess alcohol both relieve my depression by making me hyper, elated – but then I crash and am worse depressed. As well, I have to stop being excessive in my psychical habits. Mental flights are fine but I should be more ‘stolid’ I suppose is the word.

Phillip also said it was NONE of Diana’s, nor (her fat pig lover) Ernie’s business what I did with my life. “Just because you’re twenty-one they are trying to parent you,” he said, with a tinge of disgust. As well, the reverberation of Ernie’s shrieking “fag, pervert” was sounding between us — telling me it was fine to dismiss Ernie — as he does.

Wednesday, December 12th


When I used to fall in love, I thought it best to expect nothing from my lovers.
As the depth of my emotional starvation was profound, I understood that
no-one could be expected to succour that Abyss.

So I never asked for anything. And often got just that. But what did my 
seeming-desperate hunger really require?

I thought it meant I had to have someone I could completely trust.
 Or someone I could love absolutely? Was my terrible need in actuality 
a religious craving? But my over-sophisticated Reason refuses to allow me to
 “love God.” If only I could sink there!

Thus, with no-one to love, not even an abstraction – no-one to turn to – no
 consolation – not even delusive obsession, to keep my blood flowing –

LET MY BLOOD FLOW ON THE GROUND. The filthy, rational, always-there ground.

Saturday, December 22nd

Just took two Valiums. Have not been keeping up this diary, but Georgy seems to inspire me to write, by his absence, as all evening long I waited for him to show up.

He called me at work yesterday, saying he wanted to go out “like old times.” He sounded so sweet, said he would be by at nine. I guess Miss Pla trotted home on all fours to her famille porcine en IOWA or wherever swine hail from… hmmmm EE-o-WAY sounds so ‘Indian’ 
with a French accent n’est-ce pas?

So Georgy, orphan of drunks and suicides, was reduced to calling up another social reject at this most dismally social time of year. I bought wine and snacks, cleaned my slimy apartment, got all dressed up and ready. Then he was an hour late.

At ten thirty I put a note on my bell, went to the corner and called my service — no messages. Called his house. No answer. His machine wasn’t even on. Bugger.

Went home, looked in the mirror at the makeup, felt such a waste, thought about going out drinking, thought about Angie, couldn’t face the Duchess on Xmas. Took off the makeup, got undressed and got into bed with the diary.

I am so happy now that Gabriel and Gustavo gave me the stupid little television! I finally plugged it in last week and saw a Marlene Dietrich festival – she is incredible! Just watched some sentimental tripe about pioneers in the Rocky Mountains getting lost in the snow at Xmas time, all sticking together through thick and thin. Actually wept over all the cornball shit, golly I guess I AM in a dire state mentally. When the missing Daddy-O came in from the blizzard, and I thought about Bob Daddy coming home from jail, me running down the hallway to grab him after two years gone I really lost it. Goodnight.

Midnight Xmas Eve

Still no message from Georgy. Maybe he committed suicide. I don’t care. Let Miss Pla find the rotted corpse herself on New Year’s Eve.

Wednesday, December 26th

Slept Xmas day through. It’s my discipline, after all, to stay in bed, read and write, be a Precieuse … even with no audience, not even a minion.

I’m at the office to prove my devotion. No-one here but the Art Director sleeping. Alexander called, said he was “worried” about me, again. I had been just about to call him, the Valium prescription is running out. Had thus to admit to him I have been taking them. He insisted I come uptown right after work to see him. I refused. Don’t want to see him. Can’t he mail the damned prescription?

Towards midnight, Dec. 26th

I wonder if Georgy IS dead? Kittens meowing, truly hungry, their tiny throats pierce the air unbearably. Mother-cat rattles the security gate, leaping through the back window – my neighbor’s keys jingle, off on a cruise of the docks – all nocturnal prowlers lively. But I don’t want to go out and check my service. I’m sick of hearing “No messages.”

A plane passes over in metallic tremour… waiting for the whine, and crash to earth, that fear I always had as a child. “The atom bomb had exploded in our minds already, there is no need for it to destroy our bodies. We are all already wrecked.” Yes, the world’s peace of mind has been destroyed forever. Not just mine.

If anyone felt like it, my front door can easily be kicked in. I hear the wind picking up as the Valium kicks in, all this verbiage is the noise of a depraved will, whose hunger cannot be satisfied – and so it should starve.

6 AM Sunday December 30th

Nightmare, nightmare! Unbelievable sickness… I dare anyone to tell me I deserved what happened tonight.

After I called Alexander yesterday evening, he got me to come uptown to his apartment. He said we needed to have a good talk. When I came in, he took my coat, everything seemed fine. He asked me if I wanted a drink but I said No. I sat down in his big high leather executive’s chair. He walked around me, and started in on me in his sarcastic manner.

He began needling me, asking me if I thought I was “too good” to be in therapy with him. I just stared at him. I was not in the mood to get tangled in his psychodrama. I just wanted the prescription.

When I stated as much, he started giggling and dancing around, really like a nut-case, on his tippy toes I tell you, snickering, “Oh so now you need the drugs, do you, you want them, you need them…” simpering and glorying in his control over me. He was sooo disgusting! I wondered if he was high on something.


But I was thinking about my trip to Paris, getting out of New York. If I pressed charges I would have to stay and go to court. So I said, “No, he is just pathetic, and should be left alone.”

The cops all looked at me disgustedly. Alexander was standing there staring the floor just like a bad little boy… they were every single one of them ALL SICK AND PATHETIC!!!

At last I found my coat, stuffed in the back of the front hall closet, on the floor, all smashed up. My purse was open on top of it. Like he’D tried to hide his violated victim’s body. I got out the hell out of there, took the subway downtown in a zombie state.

Got home to James and Elizabeth hanging out at my pad, drinking vodka, James being entertained by her baroque tales of debauchery. They could not believe their ears when I told them what happened. Somehow then we all got hilarious. Elizabeth tsk-tsked me and said she could get me Valium without a prescription! Oh golly girlfriend!

We went out to Max’s Kansas City…

More later about the madness through the night after “the Hex of Alexander.”

December 31, 1973… 5 PM

Elizabeth really saved me last night; she’s still asleep after our therapeutic debauch… The Hex of Alexander still fresh upon me, I was inspired perversely to be lively, strong, defiant… despite being trampled.


She said she wasn’t going back to college. I let her know of my imminent escape to Washington D.C, on the way to Paris. She claimed she’ll take over the apartment, put in a phone, care for all the cats. She and James would be great room-mates. My apartment will be end up being the perfect fuck-crash-pad.

Then she never came back from the bathroom. Several men had been buzzing around her like… vibrators. I stood alone at the bar, staring into space, drinking to the bottom of my wallet. The atmosphere around me altered subtly… without the ballast of Lady Mad, the room lost its verve. I saw it was a mere barn, painted red, filled with drunks. The bar was dirty… the floor filthy. Everyone was stupid, delusional… including me…

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” the Hex had screamed, digging his heel into my gut. I felt nauseous, wondered if I should have gone to the hospital. What if I was bleeding internally?

When all my money was gone I managed to walk home, guys snapping at my heels the whole way. But somehow I felt perfectly impervious… after the Hex, what worse could happen?

Eliza woke me around 9 AM, crashed into bed, hogging it, she stank atrociously… but anyhow I now sort of love her.

So here I am on New Year’s Eve with no plans, no serious thoughts, no cares. I feel curiously empty. I’m not depressed. I don’t have anymore Valium. I’m not even wondering where Georgy is or what he’s doing or if he loves me.

What I do feel is sort of stunned I’ve gotten this far in life. I’m not dreading my job today, in fact I’m amazed I’ve kept it this long. With a room of my own in the thick of Manhattan — some people think that’s an accomplishment.


As of September 21, 2014 –
Thank you

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