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Paper Trail
2004-01-08 - 9:45 a.m. from the pages of my paper journal December 2003, between Christmas and New Year's And another one's gone, and another one's gone, and another one bites the dust . . . yeah, it's that time again. Time to reflect and release. Breathe in and out. The chaff from the wheat and all that. 2003. Let me think about it. School - not as good as 2002. But a goal was still met. My love life - noting ventured, nothing gained. Made a couple new friends, maintained an active sex life. No hearts broken. Guess I could call that a success, but there's still a hole in me the size of Texas. I keep stepping over it and trying to fill it up with substances and other unsubstantial things. The whole thing with the Indian - him going to jail and Hannah fucking him over by hooking up with her ex-brother-in-law. part of me is like, "Sucker!" and part of me feels sorry for him. Mostly I feel like he got what was coming to him. See how he likes it. I was a good woman to him. He was the ass, the jerk, the cad. I just wanted to share a loving relationship with him. We could've reared his boys with mi hija instead of them going into foster care. We could've taught them real family values. He could've re-established his relationship with his and Cheryl's kids, gone camping, had bbqs, simple family time renting movies, etc. But no. Dope always won. Always. All ways. I was a cipher. It still does hurt. I won't lie. but I found the strength to turn him down when he tried to get back together this summer. I told him that he had ended the love I'd had for him since 1983. That was hard, and I've had second thoughts. I just couldn't handle the swirling chaos. Flash - I got a handle on that. It's all about not getting too close. Even physically. I can't become vulnerable. Soft white underbelly hurts when kicked.It's not that he ever tries to hurt me; he doesn't, and wouldn't. But the passion we share makes it close. I am vigilant about keeping it from crossing over. I keep it real, without illusions. Bad, bad things! No sharp, pointed objects this year, but I still fell into a dark hole a couple of times out of nowhere but the howling isolation in my soul. I walk a thin line, straddling the border between insanity and what is true and good and right. I keep the dark side of me under lock and key, but there are jailbreaks. I don't know how to banish that part of me forever. We live an uneasy truce inside this skin, like Palestine and Israel. I'm too chickenshit to put it all out there. The anesthetic du jour is the easy way out. I need counseling to deal with all my baggage. All the borderline bullshit. Still crazy after all these years. And that's all I got to say about that. �
still here - 2009-12-18
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