Hand cramped from being stuffed in a too small mouth for too long. Did not help. Sounds escaping around the edges of fist, moans. Tastes like pillow and blood.

Tonight is crying night. I can feel it building up. PMS has been put out of the way so no blaming it on the wrong things. Moon madness, maybe. Wailing is good for you. Cathartic.

If I really believed this healing business I would not have waited it out this long, I would not have been this stupidly tough. Silly, we all know that in the end it is just self pity and noise.

And your face gets ugly, red. Look in the mirror at yourself, tight with misery and fear. This stern command does not help me, only serves to fuel hysterical laughter which is more sobbing, more and more, convulsed on my bed. Like a two year old missing Mommy.

The reason I can laugh at myself now, inspecting knuckles with white ridges from teeth, is these thoughts. These constantly assessing thoughts, while I am busy having me a misery sobfest. You would think I could at least get lost in the sensation.

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