There is some other stuff.
It’s weird how it comes to me now. It’s not the way I expect to know things. It’s a new way that I’m learning now, perhaps. I don’t know.
Anyway, after the rage comes other things. They are pictures at first. I don’t feel anything. I just want to hurt myself. Okay, so I look at the pictures. Not thinking anything. Not trying to push it any further. Just waiting.
What comes next is a sense I have done something wrong. What? I don’t know. There is the urge to speculate. I restrain it. Free association always ends in a tangled web of upsetting thoughts and memories that might not even be true.
And then I start to see it. They are putting things inside me. Ksymcha is on the other side of something. It feels like a glass. I don’t really know what’s happening. It’s oddly medical. It might be medical.
It seems to me what is really happening is that Ksymcha has said, “Hold my hand and no one can hurt you,” and what she has done until then is reassured me by being there, showing me her hand holding itself, and when I am scared, I hold my own hand and imagine holding hers, and that is sort of my magic trick for keeping it together when people do scary things to me. Of any kind.
It might be I am remembering porn shoots, or it could be I am at the doctor’s office getting stitched up after something terrible has happened, and Ksymcha might have been there in real life, or I might have been just intensely imagining her, but this is something we have done that I am using to help myself.
But after she died, I don’t know how to do it anymore. I don’t know if she’s there to imagine holding hands with, and I can’t really keep it together anymore, and I end up in the freezer a lot more often.
So I am remembering Ksymcha’s death, and I am remembering how this affected me afterwards. She wasn’t there to comfort me. She wasn’t even there in my head anymore.