…makes no difference, who you are. Your dreams come true.
Writers are a very solitary lot. Tis the blessing and the curse. Here we have a short prologue to a story by Kristine Starr, and, as is often the case with other entries that flirt with the dark side, we are hoping it is not autobiographical. And yet, who among us has not felt what she has so bravely laid down in words here? Read, listen to Joni Mitchell, and send a little love to our authoress, who, incidentally is one of the most brilliant editors I know.
Here is her prologue.
by Kristine Starr
How do I always end up in these situations?
You would think that I’d learn one of these times. Don’t get into a car with strangers. And since you never ever really know someone, everyone ends up being a stranger.
Still, here you are. In the middle of the desert, still getting triggered by flashbacks
that cut you in half – unable to focus on the present because of what the past meant to
you…and losing control with every passing mile.
Its almost too much to know at once…to hear sentences and words form from the lips of your lover, to feel how much they hurt you and to know that you are powerless to change the circumstances, the situation, the feelings that brought you here and the events that led up to this.
“I would fix it if I could,” you want to whisper in their head, “I would take it all back and never come here, never put you in this situation and the world would be irrevocably different.”
But you can’t say that.
You can’t change a motherfucking thing.
It’s the same lesson every time.
You are too much.
You are too much for people to handle, you are too much for people to keep up with and you are too much for people to love.
That little voice (the one that is always annoyingly, incessantly correct) is
whispering to you again, “Everyone will leave you and you will be left alone.”
Which, if you were really being honest with yourself is how you like it, because it means never ever making another person happy except yourself, it means never having to compromise and shut up. It means never getting ignored or slapped or having to fake it when you just have nothing fucking left.
It means never hiding in the shower or kitchen…doing anything as slowly as you possibly can because it will delay the torture, it will postpone the agony, the feeling, the isolation and the pain.
And the killer thought you are left with – the one that really keeps you up at night- is, “If you know all this, why are you in this situation again?”