10:28 p.m. - November 10, 2003
Out of the blue while discussing notions of victimhood, blame, and survivorship, I said I blame myself because of all my memories the one least kaleidoscopic is me knocking on his door and while rationally I know that could have been one moment out of a million or half of one, but it is still me knocking on his door. And how to ground that memory with what is my horror and my voice caught and I started to cry when I said that I struggle to understand and reconcile the violence with that image.
Me, always in control and emotionally distant, I'm the one who can't keep it together. Felt mortified that my body betrayed me and when nobody said anything, when no action was done to move on and let me be it was a choice between running away and staying put and the only reason I didn't leave is because that would have been too dramatic and there's no need to draw further attention to oneself when everybody's already looking. After a little while *George said he wanted to know if there was a way he could reach out, connect with me, and I just said don't even think it. I don't want pity, distress, victimhood, none of it. Nothing. I want to turn off my insides the same way my outside is cold towards people and keeps them away and quiet.