I found some good stuff going through the 4 journals I had from the last year. One great little song/poem I’m reworking tonight. Some sad stuff, too. This short little page resonated with me as I wrap up my latest stay here in LA.

We were in bed sick for two days, vomiting and ill. The first night we decide to go out, the boys rack coke and drink like no tomorrow.

I mention again that it’s important to me that he wants to see me, know my past. Ask about me. He still doesn’t after plane tickets and plans. He doesn’t get excited, not for much these days, especially not me.

When I tell him this, he explodes, it escalates and he’s slamming doors and I’m calling anyone awake to be heard. He grabs and shakes me, tells me to leave, threatens to throw me out, to leave me. At least he doesn’t choke me this time.

He calls me a cunt, a crazy bitch, a psycho, awful names. And I’m at once sick of his world, his friends, his lack of self and success, his family, working for his goals, his music, his house, everything. So I accept the cloak of His and don my own burial shroud.

Wow, how different just a bit of time can make. I’m smiling at myself in the mirror like a new friend. I’m not scared any more. I’m done with self-flaggelation to prove I’m worth something. I am something. I’m happy.

I’m happy now.