I haven't spoken to my mother in almost two months. I admitted to my outpatient group members that I miss my parents and the love I never really felt that was there. It was something being torn up and out of my bodym like possessed mummy, choking and marinatingon the truth spoken aloud. I wept, sobbed, self-scolded and then wept some more. I am myself. As much as I have tried to tp deny it, hate it, spit upon and grind it beneath vehement-agressive heels. I was naked, explicitly so. The teflon fell away from my body and I took a painful step closer to the person, the self I am capable of being.... I don't know about "the self I destined to be." That shit is a little to philisophical for me. There is no room in Renee's in for screaming newborns demandig, love, care, compassion. So I stand outside of my own cellar door listening to the child within me, wimper, but only half-lost.
Radom questions for you readers: what career do you see me doing for the next three years. Forget kids, that shit will drop around 40 outside warped providence. And Bhudda knows that I have little to apologize for as this moment in time.
out, then in. Then out again.