“What are popular knuckle tattoos Alex?”
No I am sorry, the correct answer is “what are that girl’s mantras” (points at me).
I stole the title of this entry from a Ubiquitous Synergy Seeker song. It’s called Hollow Point Sniper Hyperbole.
“Here’s the map to my oubliette”. USS
He knows exactly where I am. He left me here and I didn’t budge.
I had my freak outs and my epiphanies. And then epiphanies about my epiphanies. Clarity came and went like an eye exam. 1 or 2, 3 or 4. We got all the way to 17 and honestly, 1 was the best it ever got, it’s just blurry now, obscure. We dropped back to negative 220 and made it back to one before. We will see.
The things is, he’s a ghost. See-through, transparent, doesn’t really exist. So the seeing thing…hard to explain. I have to believe it to see it and all I have left is a word document folder full of porn and some archived messages I cannot let go of, oh and his words echoing in my ears.
Told you I was mid-purge. Cleaning out old snippets of articles I never finished.
This was written a year ago right around now.
He’d stopped by to say hello again and disappeared as quickly as he came.
Finding out now that my earlier suspicions were true. I was 7 of 9
And he doesn’t exist.
I am out the other side now but I remember the angst of day one like it was yesterday. Day one came and went a few times and I kept letting him back in every time he scratched at the door, muddy boots and gory blood trails to be cleaned up at a later date.
Today I change the locks on a house he has never visited. (Frieda Khalo)
An acquaintance messaged me this morning, asked me to help a girl.
I cannot help but help.
There is no gloating here, no envy, no pride. Just a hand up.
“Welcome to the support group my name is Sarah and you are not alone.”
When the call came early this morning I was afraid of ripping the Band-Aid off the wound. Haven’t checked to see if it ever healed, just been avoiding it completely.
What to my wondering eyes should appear, but just some skin where before there was a gaping, festering wound.
I’ve been avoiding all of it. Promised myself the book would be done over and over but I couldn’t open it. Same fear of the gangrenous open gashes.
I am officially unafraid.
I finally did another thing I was so afraid of doing and opened old messages from him. Found 7000 usable words. My own.
Katherine Porter said “I finished the thing but I think I sprained my soul.” I empathized.
This new light that has been shed now leads me to believe that when I finish the thing I will free my soul.
So, this article gets written and then I write the book until it is done.
I’ve accepted my flaws so they cannot be used against me anymore.
The opposite of love is indifference.
I loved who he presented himself to be, but that man doesn’t exist.
I stayed true to myself and I have found peace.
I forgive myself for not knowing what I had yet to learn.
This is the final nail on the coffin and he will be buried with the rest.