Just in here today to type, to feel like I’m thinking, but also to feel that I’m feeling anything other than the hell of the past few months. Something really came over me. That’s saying nothing. Something opened up under me is the better way of putting it. I was standing over nothing, the abyss, the old abyss. It felt new, though, not like it was an old traditional fear, something inside all of us, something I could help through some traditional means or through some kind of faith. This was the pure, physical thing, the thing from inside, the lonely thing. There’s nothing eternal about it, nothing noble. It takes me in a grip – another cliché that doesn’t do it justice – and it doesn’t let go until I’ve fallen down inside so many times. I fail every day walking around the corner, talking to someone at work. Nowhere am I present in these interactions, at no time am I myself. There’s no one I actually talk to, trust. And this is not because there’s no one trustworthy around. There’s always been trustworthy people around and I’ve never recognized it. Because this disease takes you away from other people, makes you run away from them. Maybe there is something old about this, the leprous and the outcast people. Maybe they were thrown out of their villages because they were insane and a drag. They were called possessed as a good excuse to just get the hell rid of them. There’s a tradition for ya, something to make you feel real good about yourself, outcast you.

I missed the meeting time tonight.