I barely hung on last night. There was a point where I was desperately brainstorming if there was anyone I could reach out to to take care of my work, but even if someone could--and they couldn't because there's just so much--there isn't anyone who would if they could. If I die right now, everything I've created dies with me. The day started out in the woods, working out. Just me in nature. Sweating, breathing the clean air, running over boulders, getting my legs covered in dirt, thinking, trying to stay strong so I can keep fighting.
Then I was guilted into doing something. If that's the right word. It wasn't guilt exactly. But nor was I manipulated. The unfortunate truth is, if someone says, "Would you do this for me?" chances are I will. I then put myself in a bad position with some people I should not be around. Afterwards, I was actually saying the words "never" and "never again" over and over, aloud. A new policy is in place now. I never stray from strict adherence to these policies once they are made, and this one is now made.
Then last night I had a horrible dream about Molly. That trauma has not lessened over these eleven years. Given what publishing is and the daily hell and torture, and that that is always present, always the here and now, Molly is in the background so far as discussion goes, my remarks, this record. But you always feel the effects of an evil like that after you've experienced it and it's gone through every corner and corridor of your life and being. I wonder how many people have known an evil like that, though. It can't be very many.
Now I am dazed. I feel like a river of blood. That wasn't good yesterday, and yesterday was but a microcosm of the bigger picture and problems.