Wednesday, December 10, 2014


She's so upset she's trembling; shaking actually. She says she doesn't know what she wants. She's crying. The plate of beef and rice on her lap is shaking.

I don't know what you want. I don't know how to help you.

But I guess it's not about the food or the visitor who I've just sent down to my room, or the other two visitors who are about to arrive with a gift, and can they stay or should they go.

I guess its just all too much; being told you're out of luck and running out of time. I suppose that if you surrender all responsibility and capability and just shrink back into your little baby soul, then the big bad problem becomes irrelevant. If you render yourself helpless and throw yourself to the mercy of others, that they might take care of you and make your decisions for you, then all the problems, and the problem become theirs to deal with, and you are free. You have escaped.

Except of course, this would be a game, wouldn't it? Some temporary defense, I guess. How, truly, to forget that you are dying and that you are afraid?

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