It’s been overcast and grey. It’s dark, like it’s supposed to be twilight, but it’s only past lunchtime. The chill in the air is unmistakable. Winter is fast approaching and eating away at the length of days. I wish I could crawl back into bed with my books and emerge later, like maybe when spring rolls round. I do like winter though. I like being warm in winter. If that makes any sense.
Yesterday’s session with V was tough. I didn’t really want to talk about it, but we somehow ended up talking mostly about the relationship I have with my parents. It felt ok for the most part because when I was talking about it I managed to detach myself from my emotions so that I had no access to them. I think I broke into a few smiles, maybe even laughed. I was Data from Star Trek, I could mimic those facial expressions. I was watching myself from the other side of the glass. I didn’t feel anything until I got home and alone, I couldn’t help the rage and the pain from bubbling over. I wasn’t angry at V. I was angry about myself, about the confusion of feelings, about the jumbled screenshots of images, of sounds, of stolen fractions of old conversations.
I didn’t want to be me, I didn’t know who I was. I wanted to run and run and run until I got to the edge of the universe and then I would plunge myself into the abyss or the black hole, or the rabbit hole, or whatever awaits us all in death, and disappear forever. No trace left of me, no pain left to feel, forever free in that dark warm vacuum of nothingness.
And last night those dreams came back. The kind where I wake up crying. I don’t remember them, but the pain was real in my chest.
No more tears left to shed.