Rrrrrr...

Recovery.
I am in another stage of recovery.  No longer does my heart ache (all right, that's a lie.  But I have to lie, because I cannot handle the truth.  And the truth is it hurts still so badly and I fear it will always hurt)  Memories remain. My actions.  My tender feelings.

Remains.
A part of me died about a month ago.  What's left is what remains of the mess I made.  Some parts still have a good feeling about them.  Some parts feel festered.  Some parts feel sour, and some parts are ash.

Raw.
You grate a block of cheese and part of your knuckle rubs against the blade.  Not a lot, but enough to notice, enough to bleed after 20 seconds.  You kiss it and move on.  Imagine the feeling of a knee scrape, fresh from a bike ride.. and then take a scouring pad to it.. brush it 10, maybe 15 times back and forth.  All that harsh abrasiveness.. all those teeny tiny metals embedding themselves into that fresh wound that only bleeds longer.  Now its infected.  That's what the week after felt like... a little.  Yes, it heals.  But that scar is a lot bigger than just the knee scrape itself.

Real.
I am a real person, with a real husband and three real children.  One of my children will be finishing the first grade in a few weeks, and then two of my children will be in school by September.  Two of my children are on the swim team.  One of my children is slowly learning to talk, say sentences.. words and phrases from me and his brothers.  My children are boys, with beating hearts and mournful tears whenever their heart breaks or aches.  I went out of bounds.  It was a dream, but I am real, and my actions were real.  What I did was real.  And I woke up.  And it hurt.

Reflections.
I see my reflection everywhere.  I also see his reflection, but not in mirrors or water or glass.  I see his reflection in my head.  When I look at myself, I remember what happened.  My feelings are mixed.  I am so ashamed for the shame I've placed on my family.  But .. it's no more than I deserve.  I make my own heart break, like I can't live without the pain.  And it bleeds deeper than just this one instance.  When I see myself in my reflection I want so much to forget and move on.  And it's so hard to forget sometimes.  When I see him in my head a part of me wants to think I don't know that person.  They're not a part of my life, I've never seen them before.  Another part veers off into the tangent of the life I could have lead.  And then all that's real, all that I have now disappears.  What hurts more then?  And then I think 'just one more time.'  'not done.. ' But it's done.  Those thoughts come into my head unwillingly.  Subconsciously.    I can't control that much.  It's there.

Rest.
I want so much to just rest, naturally.  Ever since it happened I haven't been able to just peacefully fall asleep.  He's haunting my head.  He's always there.  So I can't rest.  Even when I want to.  Even when 3 pills aren't enough and I still wake up.  And that's almost a daily occurrence.  Damn.


Restitution.
Not yet.  Not ever probably.  This kind of thing isn't up for forgiveness.  From anyone.  Not even myself.

Ravage.
Yes, I am still ravenous for him.

Regret.
I have all the wrong regrets.  Further proof I am past the point of no return.  Where I should be in confession  with the bishop and making things, it's not what I want.  When I was with him however brief it was, we fit.  My knees hit the mattress.  I didn't squish him.  His head isn't overly disproportionate to his body.  He has eyes that kill.  He's serious and full of pain, like me.  He knows what he wants and is gentle to my needs.  See.. I have all the wrong regrets.

Repellent.
If only there were some kind of repellent others could wear so I could be immune to their charms.  That would solve everything, I'm sure! blargh.