scrawls.

scrawls

still cheaper than therapy*

15.11.13

It's so, so gossamer light when it's being laid down. You don't even notice, when it's being laid down, it's just one tiny invisible thread at a time - but i don't even know how far it goes back. It's so light, so delicate, and so fucking binding, i have no idea when it began. When i consider, when i consider x and y and z, i am nearly certain it goes back all the way to the beginning. That first summer, for example, and what he told me about it long afterwards; and the way it sheds light on how i was treated down south, in general - that's not an accident. It wasn't my imagination and i wasn't being overly sensitive and i wasn't crazy - that was the pattern. I rather think it was always there. (That's pretty fucking dark, that is.)

This is going to keep popping up, isn't it, unexpectedly, like this? Less and less often, as i identify more and more pattern, how wide and how deep and how long, and how all-encompassing, like some horrible, corrosive lace laid over an entire decade. I'll just stumble into some raw stub of history and be numb and angry for a week or two. Even now, I know enough to go, Oh, That old thing again. I know that one, i was expecting it.

(I met someone who told me something i had suspected about what now by all rights ought to be ancient history but i that had not known for absolute certain until just that moment. So. You know. I was expecting it. Still. Ow.)

I am also not sure what i can say.

Labels: blogging, drama

scrawled @ 00:13