May 7, 2018

defcon two

It's difficult to write when you're seethingly angry, but can't quite put your finger on why.  I feel like a bear wandering around roaring at jar candles and a loaf of bread and the floor, and then I feel even angrier because they won't fight back.

Lille's trying to process some very serious stuff ... rejection and abandonment, neither of which is real, except they're very real to her, and helplessness in the face of being misunderstood.

She is equipped to deal with none of these things.  She's a child.  Therapist Gumby says the adult, rational me should explain these things to her and help her use my accumulated wisdom and cobbled-together loving parent to process them.

I tell him I have no idea how to even begin going about doing such a thing.  Adams said you can't fire missiles at right angles to reality.  That's what it would feel like I was trying to do.

Ye gods, but it would feel good to fire those missiles.


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