My world is so small that I am beginning to show "prisoner effect." Little
things throw me off, the computer freezing for a moment puts me in a panic, a
bee coming in the window frightens me, not finding a book makes my stomach
churn. It is like I am a little tiny tiny animal afraid of the slightest sign
of turmoil or chaos in the world around me . . . which is in my room where I
work.
I don't understand what has happened to my mind post-John. I am a woman who
lived homeless as a teenager, I was fierce and courageous on the streets, when
I went back to school I was just as fearless in making myself fit in an alien
world. I was always confident in my womanhood too. I flew making circles
around men like a darting butterfly and had no qualms about speaking my mind,
tossing my hair, and clipping about in my little high heels causing a flury
significant enough that Life could not claim a victory in saying it had in any
respect overcome me.
This is not to say anything morally. None of this goes to whether I was either
good or bad. But I was fearless and game. Now . . . I am scared I will not be
able to do my teaching job, I am afraid to meet the people, to spend even brief
time conversing and trying to appear "normal." I am even afraid to do the
writing -- afraid of failed talent, achieving nothing but the most crude
superficiality, of writing clumsy lack luster prose, of sucking out of the
subject all its vitality and drama.
Will I ever be rid of his ghost? Will I ever be comfortable in my skin again,
able to look in a mirror without feeling disgust well up? Holy Mother, I am a
fool.
Rosena
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