Instalment IV – Wherein our Little Heroine remains unresolved

Tales from the Tropics II

How many rosaries does it take to clean a soul? This is not a blonde joke. Please God, tell me. It’s been 10 days. I don’t think I came with any grand expectations. I just really wanted to be able to write.

This year, I have refused all New Year’s resolutions because I cannot even handle failing at that.

The dumbest thing is, I don’t care about anything but my broken heart. I keep touching the shards and expecting them not to cut up my hands. If I could learn when to leave things alone well, I would be far less interesting and far less pained.

When times are really bad, reality becomes almost so hyper real it ceases to exist.  Someone ban me from the books that tell me my reality is shaped by my perception and I can bend it to my will with positive thinking. It’s making me legitimately fantasize about killing myself because I think living is all in my head. Fuck me. If I said this out loud my grandmother would probably hand me a rag and tell me to polish the floor and I think I would thank her for making the bad thoughts stop.

She did tell me that if I was anxious or depressed that I should pray a rosary. Sometimes she does three in succession. Am I doing it wrong?

My cousin’s Godfather (which is a big deal) stabbed himself in the guts four times with a short knife in the family kitchen when he got drunk after Christmas. When my uncle went to visit him at the hospital with my cousin, her Godfather was very much living. “He should have cut his own wrists so then he would have been out in 2 days, one day per wrist, now he’s stuck there in the General Hospital for another week with a hospital bill and the diagnosis of a full recovery”.  Thank you, Uncle Vinnie.  

If there is one thing I am determined to do, it is leave all my broken heart here. They can look after it. I’m done. Stabbing it out of myself just seems counterintuitive at this point.

SJ xx

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