the 15th needle

The one behind me asked if it was too painful.

No.  It is not about physical pain. Please don’t stop until I tell you to…

The other held my tear streaked face in her hands and acted as a conduit.

She felt me diving deeper and deeper into the depths of the murky water. She felt my despair searching for what it is I could not find.  She felt my terror thingking I would run out of air. She felt my growls, and growl I did as I as I pushed for just a few more moments; searching, searching, holding my breath, diving deeper and deeper, groping for something I could not see.

FUCK, I know it’s here, but where?  The last thing I vomited on the floor was this:

I Hate him so fucking much. I would still take a bullet for him.

I growled again from the depths of my soul. I had what I was looking for in my hand, and came up for air.

That is when I stopped her.  The 15th needle.

This morning after thanking her for holding the diving cord; for or not letting go and leaving me to drown, but for not pulling me back up before my search was over, I sat and opened my hand.

It is not Him I hate for I never have.

How can I Love Him and Hate Myself in the same breath is both the question and the answer….

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