the smallest remedies, flowers…

The smallest thing — glads — four bunches.  In the kitchen arched sprays of white tower from the island.  In the bathroom, orange and white.

Orange for the orange chakra.

No sure how I am in this corner — how I got to be here, but yesterday or the other I heard him very clearly when he said, “just shut up and listen to me.”

I wrote it down.

It was like I heard the vise I have been living under all these years.

Day fourteen anti-d.

A bit better.

The first five days I could have offed myself.  No kidding.  This is only temp for me, because, I have no plans to be on pills.  Nope.

Less crying, ability to feel a small slice of order in my life.

Best thing?

My friends.

All these years why couldn’t I come first?

Why was it parents, tenants, him…

I want to go up to the Sur and sleep under the redwoods by the river.  Walk the beaches.  Be held.

I do.

Am cleaning.  Am reorganizing.  He isn’t packing his things.  I have to.  It’s slow.

There is nothing, really.

Not really.

What haven’t I lost?

My own style.

Refleshing that out right now.

I am.

I am trying to breathe.

I am trying to eat.

Not easy.

This morning cereal.  This morning paperwork.  This morning I feel underwater.  27 years of listening to the above.  Hard to sort out.  What it implies is — “YOU KNOW NOTHING.”

I think that is emotional abuse you know?  I do.

Each day apart makes all of that clearer.

Before, I had flowers all the time.

This was only $8.00 worth of glads.

Friends coming over, today and Saturday.

Each day another step.  Each day another room.  Brighter.  But it’s like swimming up and away.