And I Don't Want to Live This Life Quotes

“[From Sid Vicious's letter to Nancy Spungen's mother Deborah]
P.S. Thank you, Debbie, for understanding that I have to die. Everyone else just thinks that I'm being weak. All I can say is that they never loved anyone as passionately as I love Nancy. I always felt unworthy to be loved by someone so beautiful as her. Everything we did was beautiful. At the climax of our lovemaking, I just used to break down and cry. It was so beautiful it was almost unbearable. It makes me mad when people say you must have really loved her.' So they think that I don't still love her? At least when I die, we will be together again. I feel like a lost child, so alone.
The nights are the worst. I used to hold Nancy close to me all night so that she wouldn't have nightmares and I just can't sleep without my my beautiful baby in my arms. So warm and gentle and vulnerable. No one should expect me to live without her. She was a part of me. My heart.
Debbie, please come and see me. You are the only person who knows what I am going through. If you don’t want to, could you please phone me again, and write.
I love you.

I was staggered by Sid's letter. The depth of his emotion, his sensitivity and intelligence were far greater than I could have imagined. Here he was, her accused murderer, and he was reaching out to me, professing his love for me.
His anguish was my anguish. He was feeling my loss, my pain - so much so that he was evidently contemplating suicide. He felt that I would understand that. Why had he said that?
I fought my sympathetic reaction to his letter. I could not respond to it, could not be drawn into his life. He had told the police he had murdered my daughter. Maybe he had loved her. Maybe she had loved him. I couldn't become involved with him. I was in too much pain. I couldn't share his pain. I hadn't enough strength.
I began to stuff the letter back in its envelope when I came upon a separate sheet of paper. I unfolded it. It was the poem he'd written about Nancy.

NANCY
You were my little baby girl
And I shared all your fears.
Such joy to hold you in my arms
And kiss away your tears.
But now you’re gone there’s only pain
And nothing I can do.
And I don’t want to live this life
If I can’t live for you.
To my beautiful baby girl.
Our love will never die.

I felt my throat tighten. My eyes burned, and I began to weep on the inside. I was so confused. Here, in a few verses, were the last twenty years of my life. I could have written that poem. The feelings, the pain, were mine. But I hadn't written it. Sid Vicious had written it, the punk monster, the man who had told the police he was 'a dog, a dirty dog.' The man I feared. The man I should have hated, but somehow couldn't.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“We drove in silence for a while. Then out of nowhere, Nancy quietly said, 'I'm going to die very soon. Before my twenty-first birthday. I won't live to be twenty-one. I'm never gonna be old. I don't ever want to be ugly and old. I'm an old lady now anyhow. I'm eighty. There's nothing left. I've already lived a whole lifetime. I'm going out. In a blaze of glory.'
Then she was quiet.
Her words just lay there like a bombshell. No one wanted to touch them. She hadn't issued a threat, simply made a flat statement. We all believed her. Even Sid.
[...]
'I honestly can't understand her,' David [Nancy's brother] said as we drove home. 'She's dying. She knows it. Why won't she stop herself?'
'She doesn't want to,' Frank [Nancy's father] ]said sadly. 'She wants to die. She has for a long, long time. It's been her goal.'
'But why?' asked David.
'She hates being alive,' I said. 'She hates her pain. She hates herself. She wants to destroy herself.'
'Isn't there anything you guys can do?' asked David.
'Yes,' I said.
'What?'
'Watch her die.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“You had to laugh, if you wanted to survive.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“Time can lessen the hurt; the empty place we have can seem smaller as other things and experiences fill our life; we can forget for periods and feel as if our loved one didn't die; we can find sense in the death and understand that perhaps this death does fit into a bigger design in the world; we can learn to remember the good and hold on to that.
But we cannot 'get over it,' because to get over it would mean we were not changed by the experience. It would mean we did not grow by the experience. It would mean that our loved one's death made no difference in our life.
There is an interesting discussion in the Talmud, an ancient Jewish writing. Those Jews had the custom of rending their garments - literally tearing their clothes —to symbolize the ripping apart that death brings. But the question was raised, after the period of mourning, could you sew the garment up and use it again? The teachers answered yes, but when you mended it, you should not tuck the edges under so it would look as if it had never been torn. This symbolized the fact that life after grief is not the same as before. The rent will show.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“Maybe they'll improve their ability to detect neurological damage. Maybe they'll be able to help someone else's baby. It's too late for Nancy, a generation too late.

It's good to see people opening their eyes to this syndrome that has no name. You tend to close them until it happens to your child. There is no such thing as a child who is not worth saving.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“She was simply a rotten kid.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“She was constantly prying us apart, pitting us against each other. We fought out of frustration”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“She began to scream at the top of her lungs, “I wanna die! I wanna die! I’m gonna kill myself! I wanna die!” Everyone in the neighborhood could hear her.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“One letter was addressed to me personally in large, shaky handwriting with little circles over the i's instead of dots. [...]
It was from Sid.
Dear Debbie [Nancy's mother],
Thank you for phoning me the other night. It was so comforting to hear your voice. You are the only person who really understands how much Nancy and I love each other. Every day without Nancy gets worse and worse. I just hope that when I die I go the same place as her. Otherwise I will never find peace.
Frank [Nancy's father] said in the paper that Nancy was born in pain and lived in pain all her life. When I first met her, and for about six months after that, I spent practically the whole time in tears. Her pain was just too much to bear. Because, you see, I felt Nancy's pain as though it were my own, worse even. But she said that I must be strong for her or otherwise she would have to leave me. So I became strong for her, and she began to stop having asthma attacks and seemed to be going through a lot less pain. [Nancy had had asthma since she was a child.]
I realized that she had never known love and was desperately searching for someone to love her. It was the only thing she really needed. I gave her the love that she needed so badly and it comforts me to know that I made her very happy during the time we were together, where she had only known unhappiness before.
Oh Debbie, I love her with such passion. Every day is agony without her. I know now that it is possible to die from a broken heart. Because when you love someone as much as we love each other, they become fundamental to your existence. So I will die soon, even if I don't kill myself. I guess you could say that I'm pining for her. I could live without food or .water longer than I'm going to survive without Nancy.
Thank you so much for understanding us, Debbie. It means so much to me, and I know it meant a lot to Nancy. She really loves you, and so do I. How did she know when she was going to die? I always prayed that she was wrong, but deep inside I knew she was right.
Nancy was a very special person, too beautiful for this world. I feel so privileged to have loved her and been loved by her. Oh Debbie, it was such a beautiful love. I can't go on without it. When we first met, we knew we were made for each other, and fell in love with each other immediately. We were totally inseparable and were never apart. We had certain telepathic abilities, too. I remember about nine months after we met, I left Nancy for a while. After a couple of weeks of being apart, I had a strange feeling that Nancy was dying. I went straight to the place she was staying and when I saw her, I knew it was true. I took her home with me and nursed her back to health, but I knew that if I hadn't bothered she would have died.
Nancy was just a poor baby, desperate for love. It made me so happy to give her love, and believe me, no man ever loved a woman with such burning passion as I love Nancy. I never even looked at others. No one was as beautiful as my Nancy. Enclosed is a poem I wrote for her. It kind of sums up how much I love her.
If possible, I would love to see you before I die. You are the only one who understood.
Love, Sid XXX.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“No one cared about my daughter until she was found under a hotel sink with a hunting knife in her stomach, and only then because they perceived her as some kind of freak. Am I angry? You bet I am.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“This symbolized the fact that life after grief is not the same as before. The rent will show. The next question was, can you sell that garment? The teachers answered no. The rending and mending of our life is ours and others cannot wear it.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“I have learned that each journey begets another one and life has a way of exponentially creating new roads to follow.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“The feelings, the pain, were mine. But I hadn't written it. Sid Vicious had written it, the punk monster, the man who had told the police he was 'a dog, a dirty dog.' The man I feared. The man I should have hated, but somehow couldn't.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“My fault, again. Dr. Blake said I also handled the beads incident wrong when I reported that a couple of weeks later.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“You happy you got her to run away?” “Thrilled to death,” he replied bitterly as he closed the door behind her.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“in the book, refused to come with him. He grabbed her arm to pull her back. She struggled to get free, and in so doing pulled her arm out of its socket.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“Once again, Dr. Blake blamed us for the incident. “There’s conflict in the house,” she said to me, through my social worker. “Of course there’s conflict!” I complained. “As long as we try to handle her there’s going to be conflict. You told us to be firm!”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“I began to call friends and relatives. Some called me. They'd heard the news on the radio. Others just came by. I greeted each one in the foyer. Few words were spoken. Mostly, we embraced. People often say they don't know what to say to someone like me at a time like this. Nothing need be said. The presence of those you care about is comfort enough; a warm embrace communicates far more than words do.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“In the telling, I found humor in my adventures. By the time I was done describing my day, we were both roaring with laughter there by the side of the pool.
You had to laugh, if you wanted to survive.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“As satisfied as I was that I had accomplished what I had set out to do, I realized that the journey I had resolved to take did not end after the completion of the book. I have learned that each journey begets another one and life has a way of exponentially creating new roads to follow.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder

“Murder: The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language defines it as “the unlawful killing of one human being by another, especially with malice aforethought.” The mother of a murdered child has a different definition: “The blackest hell accompanied by a pain so intense that even breathing becomes an unendurable labor.” I know; I am the mother of a murdered child.”
― Deborah Spungen, And I Don't Want to Live This Life: A Mother's Story of Her Daughter's Murder