BACK... RANCID LITTLE BITCH! YOU'RE PRETTY MEAN TO ME SOMETIMES WHEN YOU WRITE, AREN'T YOU! WE'LL HAVE TO FIX THAT. MAKE YOU LOVE ME LIKE YOU USED TO. I REMEMBER THAT... SOON YOU WILL TOO?
And then he disappeared. I need to do something that is right and good,
Today!
Who in the fuck is he and why does he hate me so much?
I want to die, and to forget everything else. I can't take it anymore! I begin to feel good and then someone makes me feel that I'm dirty. Then someone kisses me just right and I feel wanted and excited all over again.
I need to know if what I'm doing is right. I can't let BOB be the one who taught me to wish to be tied up sometimes.
I don't ever want to be hurt. I never have. I only want to play the games where I have to say dirty things sometimes, not mean things like BOB thinks, and if I am punished I am punished with sex, not pain.
BOB is not who puts these ideas in my head. I won't let him be the one. These are my private thoughts.
I'm afraid I'll never make it in and out of another sexual experience, ever, without being afraid he will come and tell everyone lies about me.
If someone who loves me reads this years from now, please try not to hate me. I only feel the way I feel. I don't hurt anyone else, and I don't want to. I try every day to be better and more the way I think the world wants to see a girl like me.
But I am Laura. I am sad. God, I'm sad again! Why! I miss laughter and a day where time is spent with my friends who don't care what I think of late at night. They don't hate me for sometimes dreaming late at night, with my hand buried between my legs, ashamed, and of how I wish that my other hand would simply pull the trigger.
BOB, I forbid you to come to me ever again, in dreams or in reality.
You are not welcome! I hate you.
I feel so alone, Laura
January 10, 1987
Dear Diary,
I tried to talk to Dad at breakfast and he just sat there twitching, like he doesn't have time for any extra thoughts. Doesn't have time for the fucking suicide dreams his own daughter is having. Neither one of my parents will talk to me...
What is this? Some kind of a dream?
Dad took off all of his clothes and shouted, "It's a dream ... Fucking relax, would you?... So your mother saw photos of you licking the little privates of other women. It appeared in these photos that you were enjoying yourself. Is this true?"
I've never been more afraid than I am this very minute.
I didn't even realize I was sleeping when that was written... was I?
Shit, this is too weird. Just a little too weird.
Was BOB here? Was BOB inside...
I won't even think it.
L
February 3, 1987
Dear Diary,
There is no cocaine. It's gone. I hate the way I feel... so much like I've been in a vacuum, my body has been violated, my thoughts, my dreams, the images I have of Mom and Dad are now awful and depressing pictures I can't stop seeing... Oh, if she ever knew the things that have happened.
I wonder if anyone would believe me if I told them all I know about him... I could have the police wait for him, until he showed up, but he would know just like he knows everything in my mind. My mind is his toy. Something he bats around, with his paws. I'm just going to have to tell everyone and make them believe. And just tell...
TELL THEM WHAT, LAURA PALMER? TELL THEM THAT I TAKE YOU AWAY AND YOU NEVER ARGUE? YOU NEVER SCREAM FOR HELP? TELL THEM YOU SEE ME BUT NO ONE ELSE DOES? NO ONE WILL BELIEVE YOU, LAURA PALMER... I'M TOO CAREFUL.
Dear God... it's happened again.... He's stepped onto the page... This is not at all what I was trying to write! It frightens me terribly to know that BOB found his way into the pages of my diary as if he were feeding the words to my mind, just seconds in time for me to think that they are my own.
Is there something I can get for you, BOB... anything the family might own that you would take in trade for your permanent absence?
Talk to me BOB... about a trade... trade me for something else.
I
And then he disappeared. I need to do something that is right and good,
Today!
Who in the fuck is he and why does he hate me so much?
I want to die, and to forget everything else. I can't take it anymore! I begin to feel good and then someone makes me feel that I'm dirty. Then someone kisses me just right and I feel wanted and excited all over again.
I need to know if what I'm doing is right. I can't let BOB be the one who taught me to wish to be tied up sometimes.
I don't ever want to be hurt. I never have. I only want to play the games where I have to say dirty things sometimes, not mean things like BOB thinks, and if I am punished I am punished with sex, not pain.
BOB is not who puts these ideas in my head. I won't let him be the one. These are my private thoughts.
I'm afraid I'll never make it in and out of another sexual experience, ever, without being afraid he will come and tell everyone lies about me.
If someone who loves me reads this years from now, please try not to hate me. I only feel the way I feel. I don't hurt anyone else, and I don't want to. I try every day to be better and more the way I think the world wants to see a girl like me.
But I am Laura. I am sad. God, I'm sad again! Why! I miss laughter and a day where time is spent with my friends who don't care what I think of late at night. They don't hate me for sometimes dreaming late at night, with my hand buried between my legs, ashamed, and of how I wish that my other hand would simply pull the trigger.
BOB, I forbid you to come to me ever again, in dreams or in reality.
You are not welcome! I hate you.
I feel so alone, Laura
January 10, 1987
Dear Diary,
I tried to talk to Dad at breakfast and he just sat there twitching, like he doesn't have time for any extra thoughts. Doesn't have time for the fucking suicide dreams his own daughter is having. Neither one of my parents will talk to me...
What is this? Some kind of a dream?
Dad took off all of his clothes and shouted, "It's a dream ... Fucking relax, would you?... So your mother saw photos of you licking the little privates of other women. It appeared in these photos that you were enjoying yourself. Is this true?"
I've never been more afraid than I am this very minute.
I didn't even realize I was sleeping when that was written... was I?
Shit, this is too weird. Just a little too weird.
Was BOB here? Was BOB inside...
I won't even think it.
L
February 3, 1987
Dear Diary,
There is no cocaine. It's gone. I hate the way I feel... so much like I've been in a vacuum, my body has been violated, my thoughts, my dreams, the images I have of Mom and Dad are now awful and depressing pictures I can't stop seeing... Oh, if she ever knew the things that have happened.
I wonder if anyone would believe me if I told them all I know about him... I could have the police wait for him, until he showed up, but he would know just like he knows everything in my mind. My mind is his toy. Something he bats around, with his paws. I'm just going to have to tell everyone and make them believe. And just tell...
TELL THEM WHAT, LAURA PALMER? TELL THEM THAT I TAKE YOU AWAY AND YOU NEVER ARGUE? YOU NEVER SCREAM FOR HELP? TELL THEM YOU SEE ME BUT NO ONE ELSE DOES? NO ONE WILL BELIEVE YOU, LAURA PALMER... I'M TOO CAREFUL.
Dear God... it's happened again.... He's stepped onto the page... This is not at all what I was trying to write! It frightens me terribly to know that BOB found his way into the pages of my diary as if he were feeding the words to my mind, just seconds in time for me to think that they are my own.
Is there something I can get for you, BOB... anything the family might own that you would take in trade for your permanent absence?
Talk to me BOB... about a trade... trade me for something else.
I
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