I’m thinking of giving Rebekah’s Closet the subtitle or descriptor of “A Memoir with Wings” or something — but if it were a memoir would I have changed everyone’s frickin names? Ack. Ida know — will keep thinking on this. Maybe the familiar, “Based on a True Story?”
Very fatigued today and during the walk with Chipper had a migraine that was like yesterday’s post-session, but is now fading. Resisting the bed, afraid I would stick and stay there today.
Instead, I’m going to reread that blasted section from last week. Write new stuff about reality and then paint, or rest, or something. Feel very much like singing my heart out today as well. Got to get some of this emotionality out!!!
Oh, boy won hands down today, almost without struggle, possibly due to fatigue, as it take a bit of swirly girl to pull off the swagger of a skirt and heels of any kind. Well, Boy has a swagger, too, he says. Whatever. All white, jeans, tee, hoodie, but the Frye clogs (told you they’re treasured), treasured brown crossover bag, gray/cream/multi floral scarf. Sigh. I’m a girl, Boy, what can I say. Jason said on Saturday that he didn’t know many boys who wore such red lipstick and I said ask Bowie. Too fun.
Okay, off to the writing of whatever it is I’m writing. I will still be calling it the novel for now.
It’s 12:35 now. Rested for a good hour after rereading the so-called blasted section and dissociating some good deal. Had to lay down, headache, stomachache and quite the flooding of emotions. Kept thinking the word “missing, missing”. Like I’m missing. Some good deal of flashbacks. Before I lay down I listed on paper what happened when I remembered the bulk of repressed memories in 1998, flooded as they call it, went into a state of psychotic shock. Oh Lord. Big sigh. Pre-medication for nine months there. Lasted as long as I could. Listed my seven abusers beside that. Listed the cap memories beside that. Then numbered what came first, in order of repressed memories. Then I had to lay down, well I actually I got to the section in the “novel” where Rebekah goes into shock, won’t tell you what triggers it though, and I’ve already written some about her abusers there. That’s when I had to lay down, because I wrote pretty much in free form, free verse there, and I’m going to have to think about how to insert these additional abusers in there, how to structure this. Also, how to write about abuse and get it on to Amazon. Hmmm. Horrific, and then there is subtlety and literary reference, suggestion and … I can do this, but I had to lay down.
Chipper would have a deep sigh after me and then I would and then he would, and slowly my body chilled the hell out. Had some popcorn. How can you be frazzled and eat popcorn. Slow down and enjoy it, I thought, eating it in the den, enjoying Chipper sleeping now in the Sun, old movies from the thirties on TCM, the red Nasturtium bloomed again, started from seed, from my own hand. Nice.
Back at it.
Okay, 1645 words later and the hardest Nameless of all is written out. Sigh. I could cry and cry. But I shall paint instead.