He says to write.

I went to group last night and spat out what has been happening to me. The words came out of my fountain-mouth, “I think I might be in the midst of a psychotic break.”

I’m smiling, I’m so detached that all I can do is smile at everyone. I mention the Rabbit. I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t think he liked that I mentioned him and no one seemed to take interest in him.

He came to me yesterday. Like when I first met the wolf. He said hello to me this time and his eyes looked like the inside of a cow’s eyes, flipped outwards; metallic. Large, metallic eyes that have no end inside. Now he stands behind me, or next to me, never in front. The Rabbit, just watching and sometimes commenting. He tells me what to eat or what not to sometimes.

And then they asked me if I had thought about admitting myself into the hospital. I think it’s a ridiculous idea and he even told me not to go.

My grandfather, who is deceased, his birthday is on Friday. And Mother’s day is this weekend. My mother is in South Carolina and I can’t reach her right now because of her phone situation. And the dead babies, yes, the skeletons from my own uterus are long gone. I am not a mother though I wanted to be, though I want to be.

And why am I pushing everyone so far away from me? I’m detonating and I don’t want anyone to witness the brilliant fragments of glass raining from the sky.


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