I feel like I don’t have anything to say. And that maybe I didn’t really have anything to say before either anyway. Thought by now I would feel better. And I don’t. I’m in this weird phase of having long since been James’ prey and no longer his victim, but not yet a survivor. Which would mean that I’m what? An exister? That’s messed up.
It’s been suggested that I go away for a little while to address the trauma. I’m not going to do it. I refuse. I will scratch and claw and do whatever I can to make it through each day. That’s what an exister does, right? I’m guessing time does a pretty good job of healing wounds. So I’m putting my money on time and not someplace where I can sit quietly with my thoughts. I do that all the time as it is and it’s getting me nowhere.
My list of You Must Not Fall Deeper is comical to me now. Blackberries? What the actual fuck was I thinking. And my Kindle can go fuck itself. Jane Austen? You can’t help me. And guess what? Mr. Darcy meets the diagnostic criteria for a sociopath. I’m sorry. I’ll stop. Can we fast forward like 2-3 years? I’m so on board with that. Because these days I don’t know how I feel about much of anything.
Paul said to Peter
“You gotta rock yourself a little harder,
Pretend the dove from above is a dragon and your feet are on fire”
And I got a girl in the war, Paul the only thing I know to do
Is turn up the music and pray that she makes it through