Normal

6 April 2019

I locked the massage room door so I could cry. So the monster could roam through me.

And now I want it to go back to normal.

I hope the storm is over. That’s me not wanting to suffer. Not wanting the pain.

I thought: How can I possibly live an ‘ordinary’ life, full of my silly little preferences and annoyances. It’s all fake, a pretense–a pushing away of what’s real. And the only thing that’s real is that Vaughn died.

Or maybe what I mean is that my only real feeling is the horror and pain in those terrible moments that seem like a confrontation with inescapable reality.

Pain that comes from my body, from my animal soul.

As if all my other emotions are tainted by my mind and are therefore frivolous…manufactured in some way for my own inner audience.

Fifteen minutes later I’m in the shower wondering how I can let my hair grow out in the least ugly way and thinking about buying some makeup for old ladies.

I know nothing. This is just how it is.