cellini's Diaryland Diary

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Like Bleeding

One minute ago I sent off what I hope is the final version of the manuscript for my second book. The last line of the email that accompanied it:

"Please understand that even when I did not get what I was after, doing this work for the last 16 months involved a tremendous amount of physical and emotional sacrifice."

I hope that they can even sort of understand. They can't really grasp it, I know. But I hope that they at least get the gist of it.

This was the hardest 16 months of my life.

Helenah is very sweet. But even she doesn't quite get it. She was there at the end but she doesn't understand the nightmare that I went through last winter. How could she understand? She *shouldn't* understand.

That is my problem. No one I am likely to meet can really understand what I've been through for the last few years. I wake up in the night in a cold sweat and look around frantically for the burner of the furnace to fix and restart. I've literally killed to feed my wife and children. Nobody should know what that is like. People shouldn't have to have such things happen to them.

But I walk around with the scars from that long, horrific time all over me. And nobody gets it. Not even Trish, or else she wouldn't have left me. I walk around scarred and with a perpetual feeling like I'm bleeding to death, especially in the winter now.

I've tried to explain it to Helenah in bits and pieces but she doesn't understand. She can't and she shouldn't. I don't even want my kids to understand. Nobody whom I care about should have to really understand what happened to me.

5:09 a.m. - 2011-12-19

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