An entry was written last night that was made private. It was written in 3rd person or as a narrative. I need to brush up on some of the most basic definitions of things. I feel so stupid sometimes.
The point is that a “story” came from out of nowhere. I mean completely out of the blue. And I remember vaguely being around– though I was far away. The words, the information, it just flowed through the fingers without any real thinking. That’s what scares me. It scares me because it makes it more real to me– like it just might actually be a true story– a story about “me,” this body, this life. And it wasn’t me writing it– this I know for sure. It came from somewhere else within and someone else.
Even though I was sort of “there,” and sort of “not there,” last night, at the same time, when I read it earlier this evening– it still was ‘new’ to me. I was reading it for the first time really. I knew the gist of it, but I kept pushing it away, and then there it was in front of me and so I read it. Except reading it really brought me/us down quickly into a deep depression and I realize now that we weren’t very grounded. We tried calling Cec to just listen to her voice mail message, but it rang and rang and didn’t pick up the message. We didn’t call back and try again. Instead we clung to Emmie (bear) and tried so hard to get out of this really bad space. This space where the information and the story kept going over and over in the head and heart. The emotional tug of war of if it was true or not for this life and how could it be, etc.
Recent Comments