When I began (for the very first time on my own) writing the actual events leading up to the moment “The Ripper” cut my throat in our front yard fifteen years ago – with an audience of law enforcement, emergency response teams, and neighbors watching in disbelief, something very uncomfortable happened. The triggering event that eventually had the Police called out to our home in the wee morning hours had been something that I managed to block completely out of my existence, somehow – which is absolutely dumbfounding to me, in retrospect. When I began writing about it (Dirt Naps in the Desert) and had a conversation with someone who was there when it all went down (Jackson: the EMT who actually rode in the ambulance with me that day – who literally breathed his own life into me to keep me alive when I stopped breathing for myself, and who has become closer than I believe my Father and I could’ve ever been – due to our strange way of initially becoming somewhat “intimately” with each other), the recollection hit me like tanker from a blindside…it was intense and raw…and it hurt like a Son of a Bitch to start chewing around.
The pain from this re-recollection is immense and even caused me to stop with my written account completely, because I was just as appalled all over again by this memory of the thing that set me into an outdoor display of truly psychotic rage:
Screaming and crying and breaking everything I saw, yelling at the top of my lungs that my husband was “a MURDERER!!!”
I was not giving a fuck during this vague time in my memory, I was in despair and I was shocked beyond description and heartbroken and full of self-hatred; so much fucking guilt and regret and sadness, remorse…
I was screaming, “I’m sorry Sarah!!!” and throwing dirt into the air.
It was 5:00am and freezing cold outside, I’ve been told – – – but I never noticed either element at the time. I will keep writing…it’s just really, really hard to think on for too long at a time, I guess…not healthy for me yet…unable to process it thoroughly at present…but I will keep trying with it, I promise.