The saws have started up. There are two, both south of me somewhere. One on the east side, one on the west. I suppose two is better than three, and better than either of them being immediately next to me, cutting tin, which they were yesterday. I wonder, though, what would happen if I had one single saw-free day to calm down in? What would I be able to process? How much easier would it be to deal with the saws later if I had more than a few hours in the morning to try to calm down?

Because, of course, what happens is one thing scares me, then everything scares me. Things I can cope with on another day become things I cannot cope with anymore. It all just gets more and more difficult. It is easier now than it was in early January, for sure, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. It only means that the urge to commit suicide is not overwhelming. I’m not fighting to make myself get through the next second quite as much.

I was making breakfast this morning—I think it was then—and I began to consider something. I had a memory once, a few years back, of pulling my head back. That was the only memory—simply moving my head away from something. My therapist at the time said I must have been a baby, that my memory is probably something from being about six months old, because that is all you can do at that age. Just move your head. Someone must have hit me, and I was flinching away.

I think that must be the fear I am feeling. It’s a baby fear. I want someone, there is that feeling of attachment, I cry for that person, and she hits me. I am afraid of that. As I was cooking, I had a sense of that. I remember now how small I felt and how terrifying it was to be hit.