She is hurt. And like any wounded animal, she fights back. I feel her infecting all in me. My writing, my good or ill feeling. As I write, there is a war within me. It is an all in contest. There is no doubt or margins for error. She pulls me and I push it back. Around me everything seems to be equal and serene. I'm traveling. Walking across the lake, a bit indifferent to my surroundings.
Inside, a voice says to me: "you see ... you are not normal ... you are not like the others enjoying this place... nobody cares about you ... you're going back to the same ... you cannot enjoy life ... "
But another voice, more mine, replies immediately: "But that's what I'm doing ... I came to set me free ... to get rid of you ... "
The first voice is offended. She reminds me that she was my companion and brought me here. She is right. But I remind her that she led me to my being here. At this time and how I feel. She cowers and does not know how to react. Shuts up and moves inside by the means of fatigue and frustration. Strikes me in my writing.
With great difficulty, my fingers write the words. The voice returns to the charge: "You see ... No longer can you write ... really, you never could... another one of your illusions... you never knew what was real ... what was an illusion created in your mind to run away from the sorrow of your life... "
Now I do not answer her. I have that look of whom waited for this very moment. That was exactly what I wanted from her. That she would start exposing my deepest and greatest fears...
... Check!
Inside, a voice says to me: "you see ... you are not normal ... you are not like the others enjoying this place... nobody cares about you ... you're going back to the same ... you cannot enjoy life ... "
But another voice, more mine, replies immediately: "But that's what I'm doing ... I came to set me free ... to get rid of you ... "
The first voice is offended. She reminds me that she was my companion and brought me here. She is right. But I remind her that she led me to my being here. At this time and how I feel. She cowers and does not know how to react. Shuts up and moves inside by the means of fatigue and frustration. Strikes me in my writing.
With great difficulty, my fingers write the words. The voice returns to the charge: "You see ... No longer can you write ... really, you never could... another one of your illusions... you never knew what was real ... what was an illusion created in your mind to run away from the sorrow of your life... "
Now I do not answer her. I have that look of whom waited for this very moment. That was exactly what I wanted from her. That she would start exposing my deepest and greatest fears...
... Check!
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