Morningstar: Recovery
Introduction
A school counselor
once told me, writing things down could help me organize my thoughts, make
better sense of things, and let go. I
guess my password protected hard drive is the only place where I can totally
express my feelings and record the repulsive, pugnacious, grizzly (stupid pun
intended… (Maybe that’s a sign there’s a flicker of
mental health still inside me someplace) ……
The horribly grizzly experiences of the last day/year of my life. Pierre knows most of it, my mom knows some of it,
but if I was to tell all of it to anyone, I’m sure they’d put me away. …
Sometimes I think that might be a relief.
One thing I’ve
learned from all of this is that sometimes, living is, the harder and even more
heroic decision. I decided soon after
this all started that I was going to live, no matter what.
My first thoughts after Sid pulled me through were that either he
had killed me, and I’d gone to some-kind-of-hell, or he’d somehow drugged me,
and I was having some kind of horrific hallucination. Slowly, I realized, to my horror, it was no
hallucination, I wasn’t dead; but I had gone to hell.
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