Issara Simone Edwards's Blog, page 7
July 4, 2022
The Unknown Variables
Friday 8th of May 2020
It’s 9:15 in the morning, sunny, but cloudy, 13 degrees whatever, chances of rain later, and this morning I was woken up from series of bizarre dreams, but well just concentrate on that last bit.
Four groups of people, sat in fours, around four small tables. Three people moving from table to table, injecting small chips of colour into each persons fingertip. A pink and white mask, featuring various designs would then form over the persons face, this mask would become their personality, change them into the better version of themselves. From my table I could see that this wasn’t entirely true. What was actually happening was that if a person had an idea of what was bad about themselves and what would be seen as good they would project the good onto their mask and hide what they thought was bad underneath. Or if the person thought that there was something wrong with who they are, they would project the exact opposite onto their mask. For example, one individual saw himself as too promiscuous and saw this as the reason he couldn’t make a relationship last. So, once injected, her projected the exact opposite and became asexual, uninterested in sex or relationships altogether, his true desire suppressed under the mask.
I woke up before they got to me with the chip, but words travelled to me before I did, ‘Ambivert.. They’re not really and introvert, they’re an ambivert, they’ve supressed…’
What would I have turned into? What would my mask have looked like? Am I already wearing one? Am I really an ambivert?
July 2, 2022
Raven-Moon
Saturday 2nd of May 2020
‘I’m having trouble with being alive right now. Not in a suicidal way or anything. I’m having trouble, being here, in this body, in this reality.’
‘Who do you want to be then?’
‘Not like that either. I’m having trouble being sentient. I’m having trouble being conscious of this reality and my place in it.’
‘You don’t want to be aware?’
‘I feel like you’re going to say, “then change where you are” but, a lot of my reality has been about knowing my place, knowing that I’m lesser than and accepting that. I don’t think changing anything is going to make a difference because my unhappiness isn’t external. I still don’t think anything will make me happy. It’s not even unhappiness really, it’s dissatisfaction. I imagine myself in a big house, dream everything I’ve ever wanted into being and I’m still not satisfied because that’s not what’s missing in me. Those things are just external trappings, status symbols. Then I imagine being unconscious of my surroundings, of myself and the world and I feel peace, at least, an imagined peace. The real world is tough to look at right now, and being stuck with that… I suppose it’s hard to hide from myself when I have nothing to do but be with myself. Usually when I get like this I can use something external to distract myself, but at the moment, even those things are failing and I’m just alone, with a mirror. Tell me how to feel better.’
‘No. Face it. Live with it. See what happens when you do. Maybe nothing will change, maybe everything will.’
‘Sounds like hope. I think I’ve given up on hope. Hope is just depressing. Can I not do hope anymore?’
‘What do you want to do instead, wallow?’
‘No. I’m done with that too. I don’t know… find a void state, find a rest there, be alone with my thoughts, and face them.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
July 1, 2022
Beltane
Friday 1st of May 2020
Did you leap the broom today? Did you light the fires? Did you feast and give thanks, throw seeds into the earth and pray for love?
I’ve had a bad few day but last night I started feeling better… today I feel better. I was going to tell you about it but… I don’t want to. Instead, lets discuss the difference between distraction and necessity.
Is filling my life up wit beauty and art a distraction or a necessity? Having been stuck on distraction, I find myself now leaning towards necessity. Is art the meaning of life, contained like a genie in a lamp? Does art contain the meaning of life? A different meaning, from every artist, and to each observer, a meaning that can change and shift, but still a meaning. But, how does this theory even help me?
Someone from a marketing agency in New Jersey just sent me a message on Instagram:
“How long have you been writing for?”
Maybe it’s just a personal question not a professional one. If I responded what would I say?
“Since I learned how.”
I was thinking about words have power today, I wonder if that’s why I write.
I can ignore the message. The message isn’t for me, it’s for the social media version of me. It’s not even a question really, it’s a request, a please pay attention to me, how can you help me, right now.
Answer: I can’t help you, I’m not the person you think I am. I don’t talk, I don’t reply, I just create art in my own little corner of my own little world.
June 30, 2022
A Letter From Cyberspace
Tuesday 28th of April 2020
You slip into the labyrinth through a crack in the fence, and after only a few steps have to choose which direction to take.
‘Have you ever seen a canary before? Not a picture of a canary, not an image on a screen, a real, physical canary?’
A saffron yellow strike flies deeper into the maze, but you follow the path you’ve chosen, no deviation, no second guessing.
You reach an archway, a grove of trees that bend overhead like the entrance of a church. You walk through it and down a long path and are met with a chain fence. You turn right, slide down a path of dead leaves, dust yourself off and turn left finding yourself at the centre of the maze.
‘If everything is pointless, than what’s the point of this?’
At the centre you find a tree, a sign at its roots says ‘The World Tree: The world you know was formed around this humble tree.’
On the mound of earth it stands on sticks out three feathers, black, white and grey. You pick the black one.
‘If this world is a shared dream, a virtual reality, a vacation spot from the the actual, from the real, are we wasting our time here? I’ve been born into a reality where everything is possible, and I’m doing nothing. My time here will run out one day and I wouldn’t have enjoyed any of it. I’m not sure if anything will make me happy.’
‘Remember what you’ve learned so far’ Speaks the ground beneath your feet. ‘Remember to play. Remember to let go. Remember to explore, to move with the flow and not against it. Remember it’s okay, remember it’s not your job to know everything, to fix everything, remember who you are, remember you are your future manifesting itself. Remember you’re a dream dreaming a dream.’
With you feather in hand, the path out becomes clear. You slip out the way to came, maybe not wiser but dirtier for sure. You take the feather home, a souvenir of your doubts.
June 14, 2022
A Letter from the Pulpit
Sunday 26th of April 2020
‘What in your life is keeping you from thriving?’ Asks the preacher.
I open my eyes, never quite where I expect to be when I do so, never seeing what I expect to see.
What am I supposed to see when I open my eyes? Where am I supposed to be?
I feel opened up. I feel out of place, out of the space I’m supposed to be in. Where is that again? If not here, where? Who am I supposed to be again?
Her voice is a deep timber that rattles me from the inside out, sending me both out into unknowns and down into knowable earth. Is this where I’m supposed to, untethered from either realities, a being without cause or feeling, without body or thought, or will or reason?
Just, just, just. That’s me. Just, free from everything else.
‘What keeps me from thriving?’ I ask myself. My dreams? My expectations? My desire to be a self when I clearly am everything and nothing?
This reality gives me form, gives me reason, gives me will, but it isn’t me, it’s this place. I have to have a reason here, a purpose, a clarity. I don’t have it anywhere else.
So, who am I? What do I want here? I’ll remember soon. I just have to open my eyes.
Song of the Day: ‘Bendable Poseable’ – Hot Chip
June 8, 2022
A Letter from the Peak
Friday 24th of April 2020
‘A lot of people come to me, to meditate, to pray. You might be the first to look into my rocky face and see the shadow of your soul.’ The mountain laughs out loud. ‘You dig into the dirt to see your roots, what do you see apart from earth and bugs?’
‘I see myself, cocooned and safe, curled up like a baby, not ready to be born. The roots are like umbilical cords, filtering the life from above, sending it down to me in drips. The earth itself, a protective blanket, a shield to keep the world out. But, I’m not just buried, I’m planted, so there is a way out.’
‘You breathe in my air and climb to the top, what do you see when you look up? What do you see when you look down?
‘Looking up, I hear, not see. I hear a question, ringing in me. How do I stop trying to control life and just let the adventure of it happen? How do I stop trying to predict the future and trust?
‘When I look down I see sand and waves, I see my shadow walking the beach.’
‘What does you shadow say?’
‘It say, “I’m not your shadow, I’m your true self, you’ve been hiding from me for so long, you forgot that we switched places.” It says, ” I want to live, to thrive, to be myself. I want to be let out, I’m tired of the world only seeing me through you, a piece, a fragment. It’s time for me to show everything, it’s time for us to be ourselves, be whole, be honest. Set ourselves in stone like a brand. I want to be loved, to be known. I’m tired of being a shadow, it’s time for us to switch back.”‘
June 7, 2022
A Letter from the Beach
Thursday 23rd of April 2020
‘Tell me about all the things you’re not over, and I’ll tell you about all the things that aren’t over you.’
There’s salt in the sand, in the air, in the little lacey strings of worn out cotton spider webs.
The smell of seaweed, damp, briny and mossy, sunlight fading out into foaming waves of solitude.
‘You choose your words carefully, but not carefully enough. You fear yourself more than anything else.’
The air’s cold on my skin, trickling between pale toes, why do all dead things long for warmth?
‘Act accordingly.’ The wind says ‘Act as though the world is real whilst knowing that it isn’t. Act as though you’ll ide tomorrow, whilst knowing you’ll live forever. Act as though this life is everything to you, whilst knowing this is just a drop of water on a planet of oceans.’
‘How do I get over the things I’m not over?’ I ask into the wind.
‘Have I not made that clear already? What are you being asked to detach yourself from? Start by asking this question. What are you grateful for and why?’
‘I’m grateful for my home, because it’s my safe harbour, my refuge, the place I shelter in, learn and discover. It’s the cocoon set around me so that I can become who I am. I’m grateful for my home because it provides me with whatever I need and things I can’t even imagine. It nourishes me and supports me, provides me with opportunities and adventure. I’m grateful for my home because it has protected me and my family, given us a safe place to love and live. It has adapted with me and around me. I’m grateful that everything I need seems to find its way to me. I’m grateful that the traumas I need to heal have remedies that come to me when I’m ready to receive them. I’m grateful for a body that gives me access to this world and protects me, in its own way. It knows what’s good for me and what’s not, even though I don’t always listen. I’m grateful for it because it’s helping me find the answers and achieve the evolution I seek. I’m grateful for the way I see the world, it has allowed me to explore ideas and concepts that wouldn’t have crossed my path if my mind worked like everyone else. I’m grateful for art because it’s an insight into the mind of the creator, into the mind of humanity, into the mind of an expressive universe. I’m grateful for the recorded history of the world because through it I get to learn who I am through who we once were. I get to learn who we can be. I’m grateful for my chance to add to the collective, the expression of the universe.’
‘Now, how do you feel?’
‘Unsure if life happens to us or if we really choose it.’
‘Everything that has been has led to this. You have had exactly the life that you have had and that is that. Nothing can change it. But what are you going to do now?’
We are just objects in space.
Song of the Day: ‘Nowhere to Go’ – Lisa Hannigan.
June 6, 2022
A Letter From the Marquee
Tuesday 21st of April 2020
‘It’s okay. It’s okay. Do you hear me? Us. Do you hear us? It’s okay.
It’s okay to be small, to be less than what others think you should be. It’s okay if you don’t succeed, if the path you’ve laid out for yourself is too rocky to climb. It’s okay.
It’s okay to feel defeated, to feel trampled down. It’s okay to stop, take a break, rest.
It’s okay if you never find the love you’re searching for. It’s okay if your days and nights are spent without comfort, without intimacy, without touch.
It’s okay if you never have children, if that path is not meant for you but for others instead.
It’s okay if you are never fully understood, loved or accepted by others.
It’s okay if you die young never fulfilling your goals.
It’s okay if you get sick and too weak to move.
It’s okay if you lose your mind.
It’s okay if all of you gives up.
It’s okay because none of this will change a thing.
It’s okay to thrive on your own, as much as you would like another with you, it’s okay to keep your own company. It’s okay to love, it’s okay to not.
It’s okay to stay in one place, it’s okay to travel the world. It’s okay to devote yourself to studying all you can, it’s okay to do nothing at all.
It’s okay to be afraid, it’s okay to be brave. It’s okay to be yourself, it’s okay to not. There is no right and wrong in this world we’re creating, only choices, choose or don’t.
It’s okay to live. Live the way you want to live.
Do you remember what he told you in that letter, the one you’ve since lost, “be kind, be understanding, be compassionate if you can, because we can never really know what another person is going through. Everyone we meet is fighting their own persona, uphill battle.” It was his way of saying their rudeness isn’t a reflection of you, their anger, their rage, their cruelty, their ignorance, isn’t something you have to internalise. We can’t know what another person is going through, we can’t know what’s on their mind. So, be kind, be patient, be understanding.
I know what you’re going to say. “Why do I have to be the mature one?”
I can tell you it’s because not everyone cares to know better. I can tell you that in the heat of a moment, the brain can cloud and you forget to know better. But the truth is, it’s a choice, you can choose.
I used to think that cruelty was something people did because they gained something from it, but I know now that’s not the case at all. No one gains anything from cruelty. So, let us tell you what we’ve learned.
It’s okay to be curious, there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s okay to be wrong, there’s nothing wrong with that either.
We’re going to tell you a secret, and it’s okay for you to hear it.
Your grandfather was not a cruel man, he was just a man, forced into a shape. His anger was never a reflection of you, but the savages that were done to him. He bent himself into the person he was to survive and maybe, just maybe, your innocent terrified him a little. People tend to repeat their past and if his innocence was cut from him, if he thought it made hims stronger, your innocence would seem like weakness to him.
To him, his punishments were teaching you, preparing you, making you better. It’s okay to know now, that he was wrong. It’s okay to hear us, to let the sound of us travel through you, travel back and shout.
Hear us, feel us, standing by your side, supporting you, raising our voices to meet yours, as we stand up to him, stand up for you.
No one should talk to a child the way he talked to you. No one should talk to anyone the way he talked to you.
Close your eyes and see what we see. We know you’re scared, hurt, but you can let his words go now. Be wise, be curious, let yourself unfold and become. Look at your fear, discover where it comes from and unravel it at its source. Don’t take the words and actions of others to heart, they should know better and maybe one day, we all will.
People don’t always feel that they can share their problems, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have them. Pain likes to repeat itself and it travels through family lines. It reshapes us so that we can continue it, but we can choose not to. Don’t let pain make you who you are. Pity those who weren’t taught to know any better. Forgive yourself for the times when you forgot.
Remember, it’s okay to be who you are.
When we’re small, we think that the adults of the world have all the answers. Why? We need to. We need the freedom that believing bigger, better, stronger, smarter exists. The belief provides a safe space for us to grow in, develop in.
But it’s okay to admit that you don’t know, it’s okay to admit you’re wrong, it’s okay to fail and try again, it’s okay to not be perfect, it’s okay to struggle, just be honest about it.
When adults lie to children, to protect them, to save face, it creates a split, we learn what the world is through those lies, it warps reality.
I’m telling you this because I want to tell you the truth, all of it. Deep down you know it too, you’ve always known it, there’s no such thing as adult or grown up, we’re all just children, pretending.
Think of it this way, we’re all born into this world to learn and grow. We’re taught to think that once you get to a certain age, you’re done, you know all you need to know. Some just pretend they know it all, scared because they think they must be ‘adulting’ wrong.
But, we’re all the same, we’re all learning and growing, all the time, and it’s okay to admit that.
Life is more about the journey anyway, the adventure, the possibilities. No one knows what they’re doing anymore than you do.
So, it’s okay. It’s okay to keep being the child that you are, keep learning, growing, questioning, sharing, and the rest of your journey here will be an amazing one.’
June 1, 2022
Hypocrite
Saturday 18th of April 2020
Good morning.
It’s dark, gloomy and raining here in Bristol. People do that don’t they? Commentate on their surroundings?
It’s 9:53, 7 degrees, 88% humidity, heavy showers, with wind speeds up to 28 km an hour. What does that tell you? Did it set the scene appropriately, or is it just numbers and noise?
It was really hard to get out of bed this morning. I woke up around six and just lay there. I tried to get out of bed at about eight, but couldn’t will my feet to touch the floor. I felt like I was shifting, like I wasn’t real, like nothing was real, the floor was an illusion, and if I stepped down I would fall through. I would be swallowed whole, lost in uncertainty forever.
I finally managed it at quarter past nine. Now, I’m here, again, sat on my bed, writing this love letter to you.
Last night I was thinking about the expectations of emotions. I has this theory that barely anyone feels anything genuine anymore. We’re taught how to feel, taught what’s appropriate to feel, when and for how long, by our caregivers and by TV.
Last night I was feeling guilty for not being the emotional wreck that TV and expectation dictates after a family members funeral. This morning I realised I don’t want to feel sad because feeling so would make me a hypocrite. the sadness is there, the loss is there, as usual, I’ve been suppressing it, along with the guilt for feeling it.
My logical mind tells me I can feel however I want and I should let expectation be a factor, especially expectation dictated by faulty social conditioning. I should allow myself to be myself. I can feel whatever I feel. Am I going to listen to that logic?
Last night, when I couldn’t sleep, I reached for my newest reckless purchase, The Starseed Oracle Deck. Anyway, these three cards came flying out with purpose and direction:
‘Earthed’, ‘Empathic Starseed’ and ‘I Remember’. Let’s go through them.
Card one: ‘Earthed’ summary – ‘Learning how to be human. In the world, but not of it’. (Pretty sure that’s an ‘Angels in America’ line.) Oddly appropriate for what I was feeling last night.
Card two: ‘Empathic Starseed’ summary – (This one kicked me in the teeth) ‘Empathic Starseeds are here to shift the world through their physical presence alone – they don’t need to ‘do’ anything beyond being here, thanks to the energetic change their physical presence causes.’
This was a sucker punch because as soon as I read it it felt true. Something about me has always changed the atmosphere, people shift whenever I enter a space. People shift and change around me, and I usually don’t have to say or do anything. Now, I’m in no way saying this shift is a good things, because usually, it isn’t. I feel like I’m not explaining this very well, but it’s a hard thing to explain. I’ve spent my life wondering what’s wrong with me, why even when I don’t say anything it’s as though my energy grates against other peoples, and their energy slams into mine.
So, I’ve gone through all the scenarios. I look too different, my skins got too much red in it to properly black, but I’m not pale enough to be mixed race, that must really confuse people, it throws them off and they don’t know what to do about that, maybe. It does make me laugh though, people find a lot of creative ways to ask about by ethnicity.
‘So… which one of your parents is umm… white?’
Or maybe it’s my eyes, I’ve been told my eyes freak people out, which, I’ll admit, back in school when I was being bullied I took full advantage of.
Basically, my eyes are a really dark brown and in some lights look completely black. A rumour started that I must be a witch or possessed by the devil, and I got left alone for the rest of the school year, it was heaven. I’m not joking, people went from call me names to either ignoring me or being nice to me, in case I put a curse on them.
But, if it’s not my skin colour, or my eyes, it must just be me. I’m too quiet, and when I’m not quiet, I ask too many questions, people don’t like that. Or, I’m too brutally honest, I have to remind myself to not be honest, no one wants honesty. So I try to be as nice and fake and friendly as I can possibly be, minimal eye contact, smile at the questions about my ethnicity and the where are you froms. But I walk into a room and everything shifts, it prickles, every tension anyone has ever held in, everything that needs to be said floods to the surface of their skin like a blush and I see it, I can pluck it right out if I want to. And sometimes, it’s incredible hard to resisit.
I thought it was me, projecting. Maybe it is me projecting. I feel like people see me and don’t like me. Or, they see something out of place and it bugs them, raises things in themselves that they don’t want to see. The card implies this is a good thing, like, you can change an atmosphere with your mere presence, draw out all the good and positive emotions. That has not been my experience. It doesn’t feel like a good thing when I do it. Then I remembered that saying:
“Nothing is good or bad, but thinking makes it so”
So, what would happen if I embraced my ‘gift’, if I walked into a room, saw the tension rising and used my blunt honesty to straight up tell that person I know what they’ve been suppressing, I can see it, feel it, it’s right there, rising to the surface, you should probably face it and deal with it, you don’t need to project it on to me.
Card three: ‘I Remember’ summary – ‘You’re being invited to remember your soul’s greater plan and to surrender to it.’
Okay.
A Brief note about meditating:
So, meditation. It’s terrifying. Just me? Am I doing it wrong? It reminds me of that line from every movie ever ” When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stare back into you.”
There’s this infinite space, and it is infinite, no real end or beginning, and I can get lost in it, just fall in and never find my way out. Sometimes I kind of want to, just to see what will happen.
May 30, 2022
A Letter From the Graveyard
Friday 17th of April 2020
On a cliff, overlooking the sea, that’s where they’ll bury me.
Under the rocks and salt clay, under ferns and heavy hanging trees.
Giving back to the land, my home, the ocean that shaped me.
Denis Peter Austrie was buried today. I watched a live stream of the funeral.
There’s this sense, acknowledgement, awareness, of knowing how to feel and how I feel. There’s the expectation of feeling, but when have I ever done what’s expected? I’ll say that I understand more now, and I’ll explain what I mean.
Last night I had a rant about flowers.
An arrangement of flowers were ordered on my family’s behalf because we couldn’t be at the funeral in person. I understand that this is a normal social convention, placing flowers on the dead, (traditionally to mask the smell) but I didn’t understand why. What difference does laying flowers on a grave make, the dead can’t care?
But, I watched the funeral, the coffin going in the hole, with some effort, the rocky soil being thrown on top, the shovels moving like hands smoothing out a sheet, tucking him in, laying him to rest. Then the flowers, dressing the grave like an altar of celebration, and I understood.
It’s showing respect to the body because you can no longer show respect for the soul. It’s honouring him, his struggles, his life, his now time of rest. It reminded me of this:
“She was not a person but a whole kind of a person, the ones who crossed the ocean, who brought with us to a America the villages of Russia and Lithuania – and how we struggled, and how we fought, for the family, for the Jewish home, so that you would not grow up ‘here’, in this strange place, in the melting pot where nothing melted… because she carried the old world on her back across the ocean, in a boat, and she put it down on Grand Concourse Avenue, or in Flatbush, and she worked that earth into your bones… You can never make that crossing that she made, for such Great Voyages in this world do not anymore exist. But every day of your lives the miles that voyage between that place and this one you cross… In you that journey is… Pretty soon… all the old will be dead.” – ‘Angels in America’, Tony Kushner.
Nothing like that was said in this funeral. He was described as a husband, brother, father and friend. Not the man who crossed an ocean to support his family, who carried with him love and hate for Dominica, who brought with him that cultural uncertainty, that void of being out of place to places like Southmead, St Pauls, St Werburghs and Easton, the Windrush generation, abandoned by the country that called them and the country they left behind.
I never knew him, I only knew what he showed, the good and the bad of it. The past was always something not to be touched, the present moment and the future were all that mattered.
I wish the past had been something allowed, maybe then I would have known him better, he must have lived a whole life.
Such a cliche, to want to know someone when they’re dead, you suddenly want to go back and change things. Let’s be clear, I don’t, not really. I’m just observing, that’s what I do, isn’t it?
Am I sad? Is the child in me sad that the grandfather who always let me win at cards is dead? If I say I’m sad, would it just be because I’m supposed to be? Why don’t I feel things like normal people? What am I feeling? Glad he’s at rest, sad for the people left behind who mourn and miss him, who’ve missed out on more time with him, and I don’t include myself in that.
But I am sorry I wasn’t brave enough to crack through that wall, that temper, and find out who he was underneath it.
He never changed with old age, he just got more angry and that anger was lashed out in all directions, like a boot to the back of the neck.
Death is a weird thing. It makes you remember what you want from life and want to run towards it.
They’ll be here until sunset, making sure I’m at rest,
Their brother, father, uncle and friend,
Safe and still in the ground.
The priests and attendants will look on in awe,
But this is how it’s done.
Not a handful of dirt thrown on to a coffin, then back to the house for drinks,
No, they’ll make sure the dead are buried properly,
With bare hands and feet if need be.
Off come the jackets, ties loosened or tossed to the ground,
Take positions around the hole and begin to fill the spaces left.
Sweating in the sun, shovelling in the dirt until the grave is full,
This is how it’s done.
I’ll be laid to rest by my family, not strangers who will never know my secret names.
And the women will bring the drinks,
They’ll gather, sit and stand and wet my head,
Because this is how it’s done,
This is how we say goodbye.
I’ve been feeling like Grimes lately, in the video of ‘Delete Forever’. I’m the observer, sat above it all, watching everything, feeling but not really acknowledging it. How can one be a dispassionate god if one feels too much? That was only kind of a joke.
I’ve always been the observer, the observer of all that’s around me, soaking it in. It’s like being an alien sent to study humans, that’s what it feels like anyway.
Maybe somewhere along the way I decided I’m less likely to get hurt if I just stand aside and watch.
Later:
This is going to be a contradiction, but I’m capable of holding polar opposites within me, I figured out something. I figured out how I’m feeling by going the long way round.
I was scared to go to bed and I couldn’t figure out why. Long anxiety attack later, I’m feeling vulnerable. As it turns out I wasn’t just scared of my grandfather, there was also this awareness that others were frightened of him. Even thought I was scared of him, I was also safe with him, because he would hurt anyone who tried to hurt me.
Anyway, I feeling scared and vulnerable tonight because I suppose it’s sunk in, I’ve lost a defender, a person that kept me safe from others, just not himself.
He was on my side when my dad didn’t talk to me for two years, who’s going to take my side now? Ridiculous, isn’t it? Especially considering he stopped being on my side years ago. It’s funny what come up in the middle of the night.
