I read a book – an awful mistake, because now I have lost touch with myself. I think perhaps I shouldn’t have read it, but, if I’m really frank, there’s no way of being certain that I wasn’t just heading here all along. Maybe in the end it doesn’t really matter that I read the book. But I did, and here I am. Broken.
I cried this afternoon. Before that, I held my head in my hands and pulled my hair. Before that, I rammed my fist into the floor many times and stretched myself so long I thought I might rip my limbs off my trunk. Before that, I breathed ‘oh no oh no’ until it was no longer a breath, no longer soft, no longer quiet. After all of this, I cried.
A single thought: I need a hug.
I need a hug.
My sister is ten. She has a large soft body. I almost broke into tears when I hugged her. What happened, she asked, to which I replied, I read a book.
I want to cry some more. God, I need a fucking hug! It’s been a year since I got a hug. Truly got a hug, from someone I truly love. Can you believe that? A year!
A single thought: Do you know how I break?
Another thought: I am weak. I am weak.
Jesus, I read a book!
I had thought finally I was getting used to this pain, but I read a book and now I need a hug badly. And I know no one is going to hug me, and I’m just going to lie here on my bed and let my mind make up all of the craziest things, and I’m going to fall asleep listening to Ed Sheeran or something, because if no one is going to hug me, then I have to hug myself, because either way, I’m getting that hug.
God, I read a book!