Love/Writing

I've been writing a book for awhile now. It's not easy to write - not just because of the content, but because my roller-coaster life is difficult to fit into a book. I don't say that out of arrogance, just that so much happened that is difficult to explain (or has too many/much details/backstory) to fit in. So I've had to improvise. The improvisations have been relatively easy and I haven't changed anything about my personal experiences except that I have left many, many out. I figure a few rapes here, a few rapes there, and people get the idea.

I'm up to just over 44,000 words, thanks to the encouragement of my friends Bill, Hannah and mother Cindy.

Not that others wouldn't encourage me; I just haven't told anyone.

Anyway, yesterday things started to really get to me and by dinnertime, I was a ping-pong ball - back and forth between wishing I were dead, to desperately, hopelessly hating myself, to - for an instant - feeling an intense rage towards my father. I even spoke to him - or started to - as I stood in the kitchen. My son was there.

I hadn't even realized I was speaking aloud until I heard my own voice and my son looked at me quizzically. "Huh?

I just shook my head - which felt it might explode - and told him never mind. Went through the process of explaining to him that mom was having a rough night and apologized to him. He usually understands and handles it well. I wonder, sometimes, what he thinks about during those nights.

Love was the topic of the mind last night, strangely enough.

I wrote a section in my book where I met Bill and went through the details of our relationship and how it began. It was an experience I cannot aptly depict with words or colors. I wrote it as if I were there, as if no time had passed. God, I remembered so many things that I had forgotten over the years and I began to hurt inside.

I began to realize this man - Bill - never has given up on me. He never changed, either, and has kept every promise he ever made to me.

Does he love me?

And it occurred to me, well... he must.

And for the past few months, I have taken that for granted. Not intentionally, but by virtue of forgetfulness and the pain I went through going through my break-up with Gary.

So many things came into question as I thought about my relationship with Bill. All ten years of it (almost 11 now). I wanted to hold him. I wanted to shove him away. I wanted to cry to him. I wanted to hide from him. I was terrified. I was....moved. I felt selfish and I felt alive. I can't explain it but something burst open and it hurt so deeply that I trembled.

Love.

I cannot write here, on this blog, my thoughts on it. They are private and if they're too private for me to post on this blog, after all the personal things I've put here, then you know they must be REALLY private.

I'm still reeling.... still confused....

I'll see Bill this evening and I keep wondering, what it will be like.because I know I will be seeing him through different eyes.