I’m trying to remember the last time I felt happy for a sustained period of time. I mean, for more than five minutes. I think that was Wednesday. I can remember that. Everyone says to be happy. Let things go. Whatever. They all have ideas. I’ve come to the conclusion that that’s the wrong approach. What you need to do is be with things. I’m unhappy because I’m angry. I’m still angry five days later because I’m fighting it. I don’t like being angry. I don’t want to be. I’m trying to kill it. It won’t work. It’s just fighting back. The thing to do is to just be with it. Keep breathing and just be with that, like you are being with a friend who needs company. I am not saying act. I am not even saying express it. I am saying be, just sit with it and listen. What is it you have to say to me?
What comes of that, after 20 minutes of just being, is that I am angry at the person I loved most. I am angry at Ksymcha, because she left me. When she died, I had a colossal temper tantrum and lost complete control of myself, but the thing is that I loved her. So what I have in my head as this is going on is the idea that I am angry, but I am angry at someone it causes me enormous pain to hurt. Anger makes you want to hurt things or hurt people. I am angry. I want to hurt someone, but it’s unbearable to hurt her. It’s like running on a wheel. I can’t really resolve it. I’m just stuck in it—this anger, and this pain.
The second thing that comes out of it is that I lost complete control. Someone, maybe several someones, dragged me off into the kitchen or somewhere for tea. Really terrible tea. And then things happened. They did something with her body, I suppose. I don’t know what. But the point is because of that, there was no ritual. There was no way for me to have closure or say goodbye to her. I don’t know what happened after that, but it’s like the last thing I remember is a fight. I need reconciliation.
These two thoughts get me kind of unstuck, and the reconciliation seems to start happening in my head. The little child I was seems to be able to talk about it now in a way that shows my adult understanding. He says, “They broke her. They broke her inside. She got all broken and that’s why she died. She didn’t mean to leave me, she just got too broken.” And all of this seems to help.