It’s raining. That’s nice. I like that. The sound. The cool. The relief.
Taking the edge off the heat.
The pitter patter music of the rain is just so gorgeous and gay. I am head over heels silly in love with the rain. Thunder storms too.
I think it’s been raining a lot lately. It’s hard to tell. I’ve been away elsewhere quite a bit. Hardly here in myself at all. You know. The dissociations and whatnot.
Apparently I curl up real tight and draw into myself. I dwindle. I disappear. Gone.
Maybe an hour or so at a time. Tense and bundled up in a ball.
It hurts like hell when I wake up again afterwards. All cramped and hurting. So exhausted. Bodies are not meant to contort and turn in on themselves so tight like that. But it’s what I do.
I have no memory after of where I’ve been or how I got there. I have an impression of dark water rising when it starts. And a sensation of heat after. Like I’ve just bunt up a whole lot of energy very quickly.
My wise woman/witch/healer/psychologist says It’s probably flashback episodes. I have the sense that she is correct. But I don’t know. I’m not around to see.
It’s hard. Being so vague. Losing hours. Losing days. There’s a desperation to it. This is my life. My time. Mine. All I’ve got. It’s distressing to have your time just vanish like that. After all, you only get so much.
It upsets me.
I don’t want to be this way. I want to be normal. I want to be free.
But it just doesn’t work like that. There’s no parole and no shortened sentence for good behavior. The perpetrators get it far easier than the victims. They get the breaks. The lenience.
We don’t. No mercy for us. Just the damage done and the living with it. The wake. The wreckage.
Why the hell can’t men keep their hands to themselves. Why did he have to kill me so slow and so painful. Why not go easy on me and just get it over and done with.
But it’s alright. I can still write. And I always have hope. Always.
Hope is my precious gorgeous beautiful one. I will never let her go.
And I still have a heart fairly overflowing with love. I’ve got that going for me too. And I am so grateful and happy for that. Some folks get swallowed up by the bitterness and anger.
I am glad for what I’ve still got. And it makes me so very happy to think that I have you. Yes, you.
You’re still there. Still with me.
And I have so very much love in my heart for you for that.
So many well wishers and friends and kind souls and loving hearts. Oh my goodness. My soul swells and my spirit soars with the sheer beauty of it. With the beauty of you.
Your love. Your kindness. Your sweetness. Your tender loving care. It is a salve to my shattered heart and torn up soul. The best medicine for what ails me.
Whippoorwills One and All.
Gone away sometimes but always returning to you.