Valentine's Day?

What the hell have I gotten into?

It has been forever since my last blog. The last couple of weeks have been a whirlwind of what the fuck.

First, and foremost, I am now bald. The scabies/ringworm was, in fact, lice. I was awakened a week ago to him pouring a bucket of kerosene on my head. When I fought him he produced scissors and clippers from a bib in his overalls and proceeded to cut and shave all my hair off...all of my body hair. I now resemble 8 year-old Sinead O’Connor. After the fleecing he threw me in the shower and covered me with Avon’s Milk and Honey Bubble Bath before nearly drowning me in cold metallic smelling orange-tinted water. He left me alone. It was nice but pointless considering he has now crossed the boundary of seeing me completely naked while I was conscience. He is more aware of every freckle on my body—more so then me at this point I'm sure.

My insomnia clings to me. In fact, I’m having issue remembering anything before he bunked me in the head. The deductions I am reduced to horrify me. What if this man is my husband? This feels impossible and yet I can not recollect much outside this camper and the evenings of “Everybody Loves Raymond”.

He tells me today is Valentine’s Day which means I have been here way to long.

I did have a major question answered today. I awoke alone in the camper to discover a small box wrapped in toilet paper. It is K-Y Yours and Mine. Lube: this answers the question of weather he is going to eat me or fuck me. As gifts go lube is the worst present I think anyone could give. Then I open the box only to find that it has already been used up and the pink bottle has been refilled with what I can only be bacon fat and the blue bottle has olive oil in it. Maybe he is going to eat me after all.

A Fog...

I’m so lethargic today. I have had many set backs, realizations, and have not felt much like writing the last couple of days.

I have realized I cannot remember my name. This is shocking to me. I’m questioning everything. I remember hiking. I remember my friends. I remember a life outside this camper. I have a friend named Kris…I think. Am I wrong?

I found my camping gear under the cot the other day and a wallet that I know is mine. He has taken my license out and replaced it with a black and white picture of Shirley Temple he cut out of some magazine and colored with high lighters. There are also pictures of people I can not seem to remember. A girl: She is maybe fifteen or sixteen? Her hair is red and she has big brown eyes. She poses with a blond woman. Is this her mother? Sister? Is she my sister? There is a cut out picture of Kool-Aid and a ten dollar bill and four ones. I can’t imagine Kool-Aid picture belongs to me. Why did he leave the money?

I’m beginning to itch. I have either scabies or ringworm. I can hear kittens under the camper which now smells like cheap perfume and cat piss.

I fell asleep and when I woke I was wearing a leopard print pleather mini-skirt and a red tank top. I found a pair of flip-flops that I think might be his. It is cold in here so I wear a sleeping bag around my shoulders during the day. Along with the water He has started turning the heat off when he is not here.

He put a larger lock on the door. I am giving up on picking or breaking the lock open while he is gone.

The flip-flops are too small for me, but I’m not walking barefoot in this trailer; not since I stepped on what I think was a ball of phlegm. My eyes have stopped burning and I can see now. Theses are good things.

He has taken a soccer ball and glued tiny pieces of broken glass and aluminum foil onto it. It is now hanging from the ceiling over the television. I’ve given up trying to figure out why he has done this, but I have gathered it is a gesture to please me. It’s his way of showing me attention or affection or something. I look at it and smile when he is around. I hope it will keep him from killing me.

I’m beginning to think he is preparing me for some sort of Appalachian prostitution ring. I know my ass is bigger thanks to the damn Twinkies and I can only deduce that having all my teeth is a also a major selling point in the redneck flesh trade. I think the voices on the other side of the door are the other women he has working for him. I can not hear exactly what they say, but they are feminine and they bitch…a lot.

He has two VHS tapes that I can find. Girls Gone Wild and the reruns of Everyone Loves Raymond He had taped on a blank tape. I did find two CDs. One is Rupert Holmes Greatest Hits and the other is Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love. I listen to The Pina Colada Song and Running Up That Hill all day. I do anything I can to jog my memory.

Day 4

I could not get to the laptop until today.

I’m still in the dress from two nights ago. He came in tonight poured half a bottle of Jean Nate over my head. My eyes burned and teared up. He held me in his arms for and patted my head as he whispered everything would be alright into my ear.

I have been good: so he says. It is Twinkie night. He tells me I may have as many Twinkies as I want. Why can’t it be Ding Dongs or Ho-Hos or something chocolate? When I get out of here, I swear… First, a bath, then, something fabulous like prime rib or a tender sirloin. My vision is still cloudy from the damn body splash. God, I smell like ass!

I think I heard him masturbating last night. God, it was so uncomfortable, but a diversion from the crock that has developed in my neck from sleeping in this chair he duct tapes me to. The skin on my arms is being to blister and I have no hair where he keeps removing and reattaching the tape. What I don’t understand is why he only tapes me to the chair when he is here. When he leaves he undoes my arms. I got a wild hair to run away yesterday after he left, but I heard voices on the other side of the door. Who are these people? Are they hostages? Are they cohorts? Will they hurt me if I open the door? I’m too scared to try and my eyes still burn a little. Maybe I can figure out some clue from him about these people on the other side of the door.

I wonder if my friends have reported me missing. Are they looking for me? I’m so frightened. Did I do something awful to ask for this? Will some big guy in a leather apron come through the door to chop off my foot? I should never have cheated on my taxes.

There is a heavy smell of pork in the air. It comes from outside the camper and I am curious to where the hell I really am. How far am I from the trail He found me on 4 days ago?

I am so thirsty I would drink my own urine. He has put these child-proof locks on all the cabinets and the water is turned off while he is gone. I hope he will be home soon to at least give me something to drink. God, I would give anything for a bucket of water and some Pantene.

Day 2

Last night was exhausting beyond all comprehension. I had just managed to hide the laptop before He entered slamming the door behind him. He didn’t say anything when he entered the camper, he just cried. He cried, and cried, and cried.

The camper is small. It has a long galley with a tiny kitchenette in the center. There are a set of steps that lead to a cot that is separated from the galley by a thick floral curtain that reeks of cigarette smoke and dirty feet. Is this what fear smells like? At the opposite end of the galley there is just enough room for two chairs and a T.V. trey with a small television poised on top of it.

He left me alone to watch a VHS copy of Girls Gone Wild while He hid on the other side of the curtain. Fifteen minutes behind the curtain He began to play the song Sister Christian by Night Ranger. This is when the bawling began. He became hysterical. The song played over and over for at least three hours. Occasionally he would scream the word motorin’.

When he finally came out from behind the curtain his face was so swollen and his eyes were so bulgy I could barely recognize him. He looked more like William Shatner in his older years. For the rest of the evening he was unintelligible, but it did not keep him from trying to communicate with me.

After a hearty plate of Spam and pork and beans he sat with me and watched the Girls Gone Wild video. He wept while batting at the obvious erection through his stained overalls. Without any warning he vaulted from the chair and retrieved a banjo from the miniscule bathroom in the corner of the galley. When the video was finished he played Open Arms by Journey on his banjo until I finally fell asleep.

When I woke the first thing I noticed was He had changed my clothes. This dress is filthy white lace with large sweat stains on the armpits. He has somehow managed to bobby pin cheese danishes to the sides of my head. I look like a white trash bridal Princess Leia. Don’t know if he is going to eat me or fuck me…

Help!!!

Help!

I'm not sure how I got here, but I am so glad He has finally left. He rattled off something about a creek and losing his skinning knife as he rambled out the door. And, who the hell is Government Mule?

I found this laptop under the cot in the back of the camper. I'm not sure He knows he has wireless. If I had any clue as to where I am I would contact authorities, but the last thing I remember is hiking on Hogback Mountain and the overwhelming scent of Loves Baby Soft.

My head is throbbing. He says I must be hard headed because he had to hit me several times. Apparently I walked into a trap he laid out hoping to catch a young woman. I came to last night while he was spraying me down with Charlie perfume and painting my eyes with powder blue Wet and Wild eyeshadow. I could understand the words, "thought you would be younger" and something about a water bra before he left the room. He came back to rub Vaseline on my teeth (?).

He has dressed me in the worst dress imaginable. I had no idea gingham and leopard print could exist together on one fabric. I look like Ellie Mae and Stevie Nicks' tarted up love-child.

Last night he duct taped me to a chair and forced me to watch reruns of Everyone Love Raymond while he cackled manically. He fed me a stew from a metal plate and gave me some water. He mumbles about fattening me up. Don't know if he wants to eat me or fuck me. I'm frightened. I knew I should not hike alone. This feels a little too Silence of the Lambs for comfort.

I occasionally hear the sound of a woman yelling. Is she also a hostage? She shouts and then there is mumbling. Who the hell is Government Mule?

This site will be my salvation. I blog hoping someone will find me. I have no idea where I am or if I will make it out alive. Someone, please, find me. I can't go outside, I fear the unknown.

He's coming...