That Nothing - Not Booze, Not Love,

There Is, In The End, The Letting Go.

When You Are Mad, Mad Like This, You Don't Know It. Reality Is What You See. When What You See Shifts, Departing From Anyone Else's Reality, It's Still Reality To You.

I Do Not Remember Very Many Things From The Inside Out. I Do Not Remember What It Felt Like To Touch Things, Or How Bathwater Traveled Over My Skin. I Did Not Like To Be Touched, But It Was A Strange Dislike. I Did Not Like To Be Touched Because I Craved It Too Much. I Wanted To Be Held Very Tight So I Would Not Break. Even Now, When People Lean Down To Touch Me, Or Hug Me, Or Put A Hand On My Shoulder, I Hold My Breath. I Turn My Face. I Want To Cry.

I Have A Remarkable Ability To Delete All Better Judgement From My Brain When I Get My Head Set On Something. I Have No Sense Of Moderation, No Sense Of Caution. I Have No Sense Pretty Much.

When I Returned, Everything Was Different. Everything Was Calm, And I Felt Very Clean. Everything Was In Order. Everything Was As It Should Be. I Had A Secret. It Was A Guilty Secret, Certainly. But It Was My Secret. I Had Something To Hold On To. It Was Company. It Kept Me Calm. It Filled Me Up And Emptied Me Out.