Untitled (throwback 4)

— this was written 14 years ago when I was really, really sick. I have posted several of these lately. I have recently started therapy – after 14 years with the therapist I saw back when I was going through all of this…. I think I may continue to post these in between the clarity of my life now. Healthy? Unhealthy? I’m not sure.. So far… as shocking as some of the entries might seem (at least to me) it feels good to post them…. so I’m going to continue. I am going to title them “Throwback #” so that I can keep track of which ones are old and which ones are fresh…. jl


I want to write. I want to tell you all how difficult it is to feel
this way. But, words can’t describe the things that stand
between freedom and me. Freedom from the feeling of my
stomach being pulled and torn and tied in knots over whether
I should get out of bed in the morning or not. Freedom from
the thoughts in my head that move like bumper cars through
the tunnels in my brain. Freedom from the bugs that run wild
in my veins. I wish that I could draw you a picture that
illustrates what I see when I close my eyes and think about
that closet. They ask me to concentrate but they don’t feel the
hands reaching in poking me, grabbing me, cutting me open.
I’d like to perform a one man show for you so that I could
wear costumes depicting the frightening beasts that stalk my
every move. I’d like to just sit with you and talk. The
words wouldn’t come though… I’d sit and stare, blankly, into
your eyes hoping to get a glimpse at your soul. A glimpse of
a soul that maybe hasn’t been battered and bruised the way mine has.

… the way mine has…

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