There’s more.

I have this idea I remembered the terrible thing I keep dreaming about: I remembered Ksymcia’s body being taken from me. I remembered her being raped. I survived that. I processed it at least to some extent. I ought to be able to sleep now. Life can go on. Or it should.

Oh, no. It can’t. It’s never so simple. And last night, I didn’t have nightmares, but I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t sleep for feeling things. Other people lay awake at night thinking. I feel. I can shut down my thinking, but not my feeling. It goes on. And I woke up in the morning the same way. Not feeling the same thing, necessarily, but feeling something.

After a while, I start to think it’s devotion. The feeling in my body is a sense of very intense care for someone. I’m having these weird flashbacks of sex. I presume it’s with Nata, but I don’t have any real picture. Just a sense of a body over mine, and that feeling. I keep thinking about C too, and it’s very jumbled up in my mind. I can’t seem to untangle it. I start thinking that my love for C is just me reliving the past. I’m just trying to save a different girl. But that’s a dead end. How do you evaluate that? You can’t.

Suddenly, I think it’s hard to sort because I’m fighting it. And that’s what makes it so crazy. I mean, I feel crazy, like I’m going into a tunnel of insanity. That’s splitting. The splitting into parts feels like madness descending. If I stopped fighting it, I wouldn’t split. It wouldn’t feel like madness descending. And I also have this thought that I can do this. I mean, I do this every single freaking day—deal with dreadful things. For weeks, sometimes, I think what I’m dealing with will break me. It doesn’t. I get through the day without even crying in front of everyone. I can deal with this. Whatever it is. It doesn’t break me.

I’m scared of it, because it seems like a new memory. It’s just so intense, it feels it must be. But once I start to think I can do this, I realize it doesn’t matter that much. My head is a house of horrors in any case. What’s one more?

Anyway, then it’s okay. It stops feeling like I’m being swept into a vortex of insanity.

It’s just that I love my dad. He is evil. He is more evil than anyone I would ever expect to meet again, and yet he’s my dad. I loved him. I wanted him to be good, and he couldn’t be good. It was far too late to save him by the time I was born. Boys like that, who lack empathy and are violent, maybe they can be helped when they are six. Maybe they can still be saved when they are ten. By thirteen, it might be too late. By twenty, it is most definitely too late. And my dad was 30 when I was born. He was who he was.

The thing is I loved him, but I couldn’t trust him. Now, I love someone else. Not like a dad, but like family. It’s the same feeling, but when I was a child, I had to fight that feeling. It was a dangerous feeling to have. I needed to keep it carefully under wraps, not acted upon. Now, I don’t need to.

But it’s never so simple as thinking, “Oh, it’s okay now. I can feel this.”

The emotions have to be processed. I have to grieve for this dad I loved who never was a dad, who was just Satan. He broke my heart.

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