Only Way Out

For the time being, The Troubles are over; I'm no longer hollow. So there's that.

No Empower today, it's my day of rest. Tomorrow night it begins again with TRX. Tuesday and Thursday: Barbell Club; Wednesday: personal trainer; Friday: Cardio Kickboxing. You can see who is kicking my ass here: http://becomepowerful.com/about/the-team/. Tiffani is my PT. Angelo is the kickboxing instructor. Paul does the barbell club. Elizabeth and Jordan teach the TRX classes.

Three things:

1. I have biceps now
2. I deadlifted 100 pounds Thursday night
3. Some part of me is always full of the pain (this sums it up nicely) (Paul said he is always sore; you just get used to it. Bad, bad answer Paul.)

Also, there are bruises all over my body. 

I need this tattooed on my arm so I can read it every second:

I am also loving Robert Montgomery, a Scottish artist based in London, who writes poems and then sets them on fire. My favorites are 2, 3, 14, and 15. Just click on the number.

Been listening to Dessa. Enjoying her A LOT.

That's all I got. Oh no, wait. One more, not Dessa. Fun David Byrne song.

Have a good week readers. Kick ass and take names.

I will be.

Hollow

That's how I feel today.

Hollow, caved-in, empty, hungover (mentally, not physically). It could be due to not eating anything until now, but I think it's mostly due to the other.

I made myself get dressed and drove to the Mediterranean Deli in Chapel Hill; came home with chicken kabob, chickpea and spinach salad, baked okra, avocado feta salad, and a piece of cheese baklava. (I could easily eat there every single day)
The homeless man on the corner said "Thank you baby", and told me to have a blessed day when I gave him $5. He had a nice smile.

I listened to The White Stripes "De Stijl" so loud my ears almost bled.

I needed to fill up that hollow place.

Just Dammit

WTF with looking him up on Facebook?!

Because now, that girl, my dear sweet girl, is screaming back to consciousness, clawing her way out from under the pillow.

And out of the corner of her eye - seeing the girls she was babysitting silhouetted in the doorway.


Those girls. Oh my god, those girls. I can't see their faces; the hall light was behind them. And just maybe I am really glad about that. For Pete's fucking sake, that was THE WORST THING about it. Worse than being torn apart, worse than passing out for the only time in my life, worse than being suffocated. Worse than the entire school knowing. Worse than my parents knowing.

No, this isn't a new memory, it's always been there. It's such a horrible little detail, I preferred to leave it out.

What did that do to them? What could they possibly have thought? That he was murdering me? Did they worry it would be like that for them?

Dear Jesus. Those girls.

I'm glad there is no alcohol in the house. Because I feel like drinking myself into a stupor.