My journal.
In the mornings when I wake & in the evenings when I am by myself, I write.
I lose sense of time when I put my pen to paper. My imagination becomes heightened to the point of visions even in my waking hours & My dreams fuel my mornings pages.
It’s become a passion. Cathartic.
There are fierce characters: Friends, lovers, a husband, a son, a father, an evil stepmother. People who changed my life. Many who have quietly -and not so quietly – faded away and their echoes still rattle in me.
Their abandonment taught me much. In every one of them I recognize through my writing that I could not grow with them anymore. It was my choice to live differently as much as it was theirs.
Divorce, adultery, deceit,
perversion, violent control,
hypocrisy, alcoholism, depression,
illness, codependency,
religion, judgement, sanctimonious sarcasm
and most of all
the inability to be happy for other people’s happiness.
These all are the characters. They all have names & surnames. They all hurt me like hell.
I hurt them too.
Last night I vomited pages till nearly dawn. When the sun rose it was as if a light went on inside me. Today the story line has changed.
I’m not asking why.
I’m saying thank you.
And the story is now a love story, without changing a single word.
