Internal Hemorrhage

I am writing again. Sorry, friends, this is where we left off last month- the thief (an kawatan)– or are you glad I must be trying to shed some light on the subject today?

I have been incubated in a pseudo-relationship for six months, and six months is oppressive enough- I have a feeling that no egg will ever hatch. Perhaps, the temperature isn’t high enough or that it has not been stable all along. You know when things are going nowhere- at least when you have a goal or when you are clear about what you want.

Now, I want to get out- panic is very much welcomed. Nothing is more pathetic, I think, than waking up each day hoping for an SMS from your affliction- it is just the wrong side of the bed. It sets the agenda for the day. It controls your happiness. You continue to rotate in your own axis but you almost stop revolving. A year is almost over but you always wake up to the same day of non-orgasmic agony.

“He got you hook, line and sinker,” a good friend verbally slapped me, and I liked that intensity. It worked for a week. Getting out is not so much of a problem- not coming back is. I think that this has beaten me to the punch in getting to the truth: “A woman begins by resisting a man’s advances and ends by blocking his retreat.” That’s my truth today.

I think that I am in a stupor.

We pick the places we don’t walk away from. I like that. Joan Didion said that. But if you could slam the door for me, please, I would appreciate that.


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