She’s no more than a victim of her ancestors unfinished business.
She’s the ghost that can’t cross over until she’s learned the ancient lessons that so many before her failed to finish.
Fears and insecurities inherited from the mother;
Obsessive focus, sexual energy, and bold defiance – a combination no woman should have to bear.
She learned dissociation from her dad, how to love hate, and how to tackle the insurmountable one small step at a time.
There’s also this inescapable darkness that she can only presume to be a gift from her biological father.
His is an edge that she uses to protect her confused and tired soul.
Plus creative potential from an unnamed ancestor – thanks for the gift!
Always so serious, and yet so silly.
She’s just like everyone else, and yet not; addicted to discomfort, which works out because she’s always in pain.
By now, she’s not sure anymore which parts are really her and which parts are symptoms of familial mental illness.
No culture, no religion, no brother or sister to commiserate about how perfectly normal and OK it is to be alive and suffering before the end of high school…
Don’t look now:
No hands! No hope! No feeling!
