Every bit of it is frightening, and its ferocity surprises me no matter for how long I rewind. How something could bring the best and the worst in me. How it would feel so there and so out of this world. How I’d be faced with my truest self just to see it was a mistake. How it seemed too right not to be wrong. How I could treasure abuse and not see the candid disguise. The few moments I look at it detached, I’m amazed somehow that I’m able to absorb such grief, that it grows and multiplies and still find room in me. A never ending universe of pain in even greater burden.

I don’t know the reasons and I don’t even know how to cope with this. It sounds unfair not to pursue logic in its raw colors. I once heard God has the courtesy of messing up your plans before they mess you up; I try to hold on to this aphorism and ask no more. But still… sometimes I wish I had all the links before staring at a broken chain.

I am confused, and angry, and mourning. But most of all, I’m scared. Of these uncontrolled emotions, partly unknown, partly unexplainable. Of how exposed I let my soul in front of a distorted mirror. Of falling asleep, for the continuous spikes each dream would inflict in my brain. Of staying awake, for the lapse of reason ready to assault me. Of thinking, of hoping, of breathing, of moving. And I’m scared that I’ll never be able, not ever again. Were I – that would be terrifying, too; or maybe more. Oh, God, let there be not… let there be… Please, take this decision in Your hands and give me the wisdom to see You making it.

Faulkner was right, it cannot last for ever. An yet, Faulkner was wrong – it’s not soon forgotten. Too bad for you, Joe, it’s here to stay. It will make you doubt your judgment, your feelings, your actions, your reasons; your identity, in the end. It will lead you to mistrust and isolation. That is the saddest thing, Joe. And the scariest.

(25 ian 2018)

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