ghosts of winter past-fingers reaching

That’s What I Need to Tell Myself

Something about Laymon. Kiese getting chased out of his house with his mother’s gun. Thinking “What is wrong with me?” as he sits in the pine needles realizing that his mother’s life doesn’t revolve around him. There’s nothing wrong with Laymon. There’s nothing wrong with me. But I ask that question of myself all the time: turning sideways, alienated from myself, along with others that I asked roughly three years ago, like I’m returning to the position from which I started. I don’t trust myself to act without motive—why am I so suspicious? Who am I suspicious of? What brings me here? Am I most suspicious when I feel most distant from myself? But if that’s the case what makes me feel more or less distant? What creates distance and what creates closeness? How do I find my way forward from the position of being ashamed, of being the one “at a distance”? I keep imagining Mari Ruti sitting on the side of the road, and her friend finding recommendations for psychotherapists. I imagine myself in that moment, like I am constantly in that moment, but just before the point of release… Before breaking down and before her friend explains that it can’t go on like that any longer. I’m actually nowhere near that. I wish I was closer to that because it would be a point of release. Instead I am confused. I am shying. I am nervous and looking for people to hold close to my bosom, but instead of doing that I am stalking the halls at a great distance, looking jealously to the light burning far away… My expectations for Tuesday were that: the conversation about Micro-trauma would heal me. My expectations were that reading Micro-trauma would heal me. The only thing I discovered was how badly I want to be healed.

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