Honestly, i don’t know what to tell you. Life is hard and it sucks right now, but it also doesn’t. I want to give you something good, something you can think of when you’re low and it’ll make you feel a little less so. Some bit of experience where you can see yourself and hang on because hey, i am, and i’m a total fuckup… So why can’t you?

But my head is throbbing and i can’t find any interesting words swimming around up there at the moment. I’ve got a headache every goddamn day these last weeks. It is the soup of madness and chaos bubbling and spitting hot broth when i give it a stir. There are those who live in my brain who NEED me to do this work that’s in front of me and there are others whose very ephemeral and esoteric existence is built exclusively around STOPPING me from doing this work.

That probably makes no sense.

Parts of my system are allied with my abusers. That is a sad and scary fact. They drank the kool-aid. They believe i was born for a special purpose. They are searching for the man i called Daddy, and his right hand man, and all the rest of his compatriots and co-conspirators. That sounds romantic, doesn’t it? But that’s just the way i like to write. What those fucks were, were a bunch of predators; perverts and paedophiles who shared information on how to be the BEST child rapist, i.e. how not to get caught and have access to as many children as possible!

This is ugly writing here, and i try not to do any of that anymore. I’m trying to make my story consumable; spicy, but not so hot as to be unpalatable. Your guts might hate you for an hour or 2 and we won’t talk about the burn that awaits your butthole, but the dish was cooked, seasoned and served in such a way that you’d never have guessed you’re eating offal stew.

Today i’m serving up something that’s raw and still squirming.
Today i have no panache.
Today i am a wall of stone-muscles and magma-guts.
Today i cannot hang on to time.

That’s the “suck” part.

The not-suck is that i know i wouldn’t be here if i weren’t progressing. These fail-safes in my brain can’t be triggered by just sitting on the curb watching the parade go by.

I’m in this. I’m not even in the fucking weeds yet and it’s a LOT.
I have to go in and grab my babies away from the terrible men and women that have held them captive all these years.
And holy shit, do i not want to.
But you better believe i will.
The thought of touching them makes my head throb so badly i’ve shut all the light i can out of the house and i’m playing elevator jazz on volume level 4 and i’m wearing sunglasses to be able to look at this bloody keyboard i’m clacking away on, and if i retch one more godforsaken time i think my head might actually explode like that motherfucker in the movie Scanners…

But you better believe i will.

I’ll try to be a bit less… whatever-this-is tomorrow.


IMAGE: Kai-Chieh Chan