When Writing is the Only Option

Three days ago, the tears hovered between my lids and my eyelashes...on the verge...like a glass filled just so above the rim to make a lip without spilling. Yesterday, I couldn't summon the tears. They had somehow dried out with the surge of emotions that I was not able to make sense of. I was not able to make coherent.

So I cut.

Never a proud moment for me. Today I feel the shame and disappointment that inevitably follows this violent act...and the overwhelming sensation that I am not finished...that there is more left...that I didn't quite get it all out of my system.

And I know that I can't continue doing this. I know that I have committed to staying safe this weekend. So I write. In a desperate and agonizing manner, I return to this blog to write anonymously and, I pray, privately.