I walked in here thinking that today I would finish the book. I ordered my normal coffee, did my normal set up routine, took a deep breath and….
now there’s a warning label, a foreword, what I wrote 4 days ago has been edited and I’ve made it one page closer to the grand finale…buuuutttttt
Now my procratination is forcing me to build a “story within the story.”
In all honesty I’m not ready to face the finale. I want to finish the book no doubt and I want to finish it now but..I know that when our narrator goes into that house to face the antagonist it’s me taking that step to face the child hood abuser. I’ve got the entire thing planned out and I know how it ends but…
…..sigh…I was told once that my determination is my strength but this self explorative novel of self healing constantly feels as if I’m Atlas being punished with the world on my shoulders, or Promethius eternally chained to a rock where crows eat my liver every night only for it to regrow during the day, or King Sisyphus eternally pushing a boulder up a mountain….
Don’t be silly. I know I’m no god. I know I will never be worthy enough as to become a myth. But the struggle is real and that’s no lie.
No amount of coffee or alcohol is making this easier.
I can’t sleep at night. I’m having trouble eating.
I want to face my abuser in real life. Not in some novel.
….maybe the real abuser of me is myself. maybe I’m pushing this too hard out of despiration. Do I have a responsibility to heal in order to lead the way for other victims who read my book?
yeah….yeah I do..