It's been an interesting few days. After deciding to write a book, I promptly decided to NOT write a book, and then decided that no, I should really write this book but maybe I won't publish it. Then again, maybe I will.
Such has been my mind since last Thursday.
I also decided that I think the Universe sending me one of Roi's booty-girls was actually a reminder that I was on the right track. As if she was forcing me to look this whole ugly thing in the face over and over again and not forget about it for too long lest I retreat to denial and minimizing myself. Lest I cave to Roi's sorrowful shuffling around the house.
WHICH, I did. Sort of. I talked to him and then we watched a movie together. I was about to beat myself up over the whole thing when it occurred to me that it takes quite a bit of painful effort to remain completely blocked against someone you work and live with. I didn't cave, I just didn't feel like keeping my shoulder up against the door. I needed a rest from that.
He offered to go to a therapist with me. I didn't respond. It's too late.
I spent several hours gathering together all the scattered information and journal entries I've kept over the last 4 and a half years. Emails, forums, written journals (scattered throughout 4-5 notebooks), and computer documents. It's a lot of stuff, and revisiting some of it was heart-shreddingly painful. No wonder our brains minimize stuff, forget, deny, etc. I was reliving several traumas over again and I had to walk away from it many times, catch my breath, scream into a pillow, meditate, take a walk -- anything to keep my molecules from flying apart as they seemed to be threatening.
And I've only just begun. I've only just located and gathered, but now I have to put it all into one document with dates to use as a reference for writing.
I am in a terrible state of confusion about what I mean to do with this writing. All I know is that the drive for it is out of my control at the moment.