Untitled...

I miss books. I miss the way I sat and read for hours, lost in another world of someone else’s creation. I miss the hours of endless discussion about them, the arguments of context and style. It is odd to watch my sister who like I was at her age devours books like a child eating M&M’s. I miss those days. I miss lazy afternoons of lying in the backyard book in hand and Pierre at my side. Why does it seem so long ago? Those days of youthful procrastination…when a book ran my life. I miss it…I have come to realize I miss a lot of things.

Sometimes I want to walk away. No, not walk, run; I want to close my eyes and just disappear. I watched a video from my senior year last night. These people in the video, so young and full of life and possibilities, and their lives lay out before them. I see a past that seems so long ago. The years since then I’ve changed so much. I’m so crazy sometimes, so manic, so lost in the memories of what was that I start to forget what is.

Tomorrow I go to the counselor….scared doesn’t describe it. I think panic is better. I’m starting to feel like a caged lion. I don’t know that I have it in me to function tomorrow. I don’t know that I can make it through tonight. I want to be alone…to hide…to disappear. I’m acting today, avoiding the sense of utter doom. The last time I faced a counseling session I was so upset I couldn’t move or speak. I just kept crying…and I have a feeling that unless I figure out how to suck it up…I’ll be doing the same tomorrow.


“…see how the flesh grows back across a wound, with a great vehemence, more strong than the simple, untested surface before. There's a name for it on horses, when it comes back darker and raised: proud flesh,

as all flesh is proud of its wounds, wears them as honors given out after battle, small triumphs pinned to the chest-“
Jane Hirshfield, From For What Bind Us