What were all the things I wanted to write here?  The thoughts that kept me up last night?  The thoughts that ignored how tight I kept my eyelids?  And ignored the Mirtazapine?  And ignored the Trazodone?  And persisted and insisted on badgering me?

    This all feels so terribly wrong.

    And I must find these things out for myself.  I must feel the experience.  I must know from my own actions.  I must know.  I have to.  I can’t stop.

    This is why your words won’t work.  They serve no purpose here.  Don’t waste them on me.

    And I regret nothing.  I live without regrets.  

But the pain.  It’s unbearable.  The pain I was told to avoid.  The shock.  The devastation.  The octopus.  These things could have been avoided.  

But I had to know them.  I had to get acquainted.

    So where does this leave me?  

It leaves me sinking into the mattress of my bed while a loved one sits beside me and watches as I clasp my stomach with one hand and my chest with the other and whisper words so quietly because I fear that my eyes will flood much more than they already are.  I fear my body will shake so violently that it will decide to shake no more.  Give in.  Give out.

    But she places her hand on mine and tells me what I need to hear.  Need to digest.  Need to accept.

    That, of course, these things happened.  That, of course, I fell.  Of course, falling felt so good.  And of course, the ground feels this bad.  Of course, I’m this tattered.  Of course, I’m this tormented.  Of course, I am human.

My emotions have been singed.  My foundation torched.  My heart ravaged.

But I’ll persevere.  As she told me last night, I have no choice.

I have no choice.