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I have a very odd sense of myself today. I can laugh, I can hurt, I can bleed, but I canapos;t seem to cry. I donapos;t understand it. I never could.

I used to hide under my bed or in my closet when my father would be ranting and trying to kick my door in. I remember, even then, fearing heapos;d hurt me, hurt my dog, hurt himself, that I couldnapos;t cry. It was a pause in all the terror and panic. A simple thought that would last a millisecond. Itapos;s a welcome distraction, thoughts. Maybe itapos;s why I retreat so often.

I can wiggle my toes down with only some conscious thought. The middle takes longer to move. They are nearly impossible to move up and the middle wonapos;t go up at all. I probably look odd to the outsider. To make sure they move I must stare at them. It looks like I am willing them to spontaneously cumbust.

Merc is trying to make contact again. Iapos;m surprised she didnapos;t wait longer after her blatant attempt to phase me out. Iapos;m hopeful that Dutch is doing OK.� Nik was being a complete BITCH to her. I hope she doesnapos;t get pushed too far.
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