Nine days after the pi bomb and I'm realizing just how frustrated and angry I am. It ain't pretty. I haven't responded to life with this much tearful anger, methinks, since my young 20s. This is not good. And yet, there it is. I'm angry at COVID-19 because I can't confide in a healing syster as I would like, face to face, side by side, heart to heart, to be heard so that the next phase of healing may commence. And that's bratty. I'm angry that I can't shove this fucking genie, that I was perfectly fine without, back into its fucking bottle so that I might shove it down the odious, lying throat of She.
See? It ain't pretty. I'm not liking it. In fact, I don't think I've every really hated anything in my life, but I'm pretty sure it's hate I'm feeling for this. And to process it all alone is not resonating. But at least I can vomit up the poison here. I just hope I discover forgiveness in the spew.
1 comment:
I can see how much you are hurting Rose. I hope you are able to get through your pain. x
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