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Second dump of text pinned to the 'I am a Good Person' text. The room described in this issue and the last one does not exist in the layout of my mother's home. I'll try to find out where this room is. The details disturb me. I would still like to believe that this is just a story, but I'm finding it difficult. More info to follow.
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Broken Images 10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSTGApYw6Fe
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Broken images are what I carry everyday and all that I have left now that nothing will be left soon. When you go to your miserable death, B, you will be surrounded by nobody who loves you and there will be nobody out there searching for you. You will die unheard. I will die much loved. I will die and be remembered. You will die and be nothing at all. Broken images is what the mirror gives me back. Broken images are reflections in my cereal milk. Broken images are what looks back when I look at the mirror. I don’t recognize that face, B. Do you know me?
When we began I wanted to go on forever. Keep you forever in my web, forever trying to break your spirit. You have bested me. You have defeated me. I may have kept you against your will for 6 months, but you have kept me all that time with nothing other than your own willpower to carry on. Your eyes are still full of steely life. I can’t believe you. I’m enveloped in your own determination. It motivates me to do better in my own life. I can’t tell you how it is to be inspired.
Jerald is gone. Broken images. Did you see his face? It was your fearlessness, in a way, which motivated me to do it. Seeing you, day after day, fearless, steadfast, unblinking like a psychopath. Imagine! You a psychopath! Your doe eyes turned vipers. But the world turns around and together or apart we are always falling down. It passed out of my mind for several days and it didn’t strike me. But on a particularly dreadful day, when you had whipped around your leg restraint and given me a nasty kick to the thigh. I’m still amazed by that. Again!
Again – that determination, that unflinching and constant push to rebel, to strive on. I am grown speechless by you. The kick isn’t what motivated me, however. That came later when Hubby Jerald (yes, he has graduated to having a name now) came in from his long hard work day and noticed (yes, he noticing things he would never have noticed before, he must have suspected something fishy before) enquiring as to my limp. I replied that I’d had a fall earlier and he said, ‘Oh my poor dear.’ I wanted to kill him there and then.
In that moment, B, I found myself feeling so helpless and frail. That I had just left this stranger in my own home depict me to myself as a ‘poor dear’. I was beyond insulted. But there was also a shame there. A feeling that I had been stuck in a slump. You recall that last letter – me depressed beyond belief from my diagnosis, which in the end was never so serious as I made out it to be. I was ashamed of myself for being stuck like this for so long, for keeping up the facade that the room I’d reserved for you was being used for my ‘writing’. Whatever that meant!
The next morning I turned over in bed to him and felt something akin to lust. ‘Do you know when I told you yesterday that I had hurt my thigh from a fall?’ He nodded. ‘Well that was a lie actually.’ He cocked his head. ‘You know Beatrice,’ I asked. ‘My friend, Beatrice.’ He nodded. ‘She did that to me.’ ‘Was it an accident?’ ‘No.’ ‘Why would she do such a thing as that?’ he enquired, growing red in the face. ‘Probably because I’ve had her locked up against her will in the house for the past 6 months...’ I yawned as if drifting off to sleep again. My husband began cackling. We didn’t tell many jokes these days.
I’ve been out walking. I don’t do too much talking these days. Did you ever listen to Nico, B? I was thinking of letting you listen to some of her songs while you’re here. Now that Jerald is gone – he always hated my songs. They always got in the way of his own musical tastes. These days. These days I seem to think a lot of all the things that I forgot to do. I showed Jerald a few days later. You remember that day. I threatened him after. I smashed my face into the wall so it bruised. I threatened him. I told him how quickly and gracefully I could pin everything onto him, how I could destroy his every reputation.
I will smash your face in. I will make you realize yourself. I will show you what it really means to hold everything all at once. I will follow through. Jesus on the cross. You will know my fear. I will show you. I will show. I will make you. A heap of broken images.
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and then Add to home screen.