What you don’t understand is, it’s this or therapy. It’s this or medication. It’s this or I go crazy inside my own head. This way I can let it go.
And then I put it here, because I get emails like this:
“Write something for me.
Write about a girl, who deep inside, never trusts anyone. Not even herself.
Never expects anyone to stay, not even herself.
Jeapordizes her own happiness because its such an uncomfortable state.
Write me something about a girl that feels the most relaxed alone, in the woods, with her toes in the river and a dog by her side.
Who has an insatiable need for sex, but only with a lover.
Who needs love more than life, but believes in it less than grapefruit spoons and tampax.
Write me something about myself.”
And then I know I’m not alone. And now she knows she’s not either.
