This whole time, my whole life, that harsh, stony path was leading up to this one point. I followed it blindly, stumbling along the way, scraped and weary, without any idea of where it was leading, without ever realizing that with every step I was approaching the light at the end of a very long, dark tunnel. And now that I've reached it, now that I'm here, I want to catch it in my hand, hold onto it forever to look back on - the point at which my new life really began.

Never before have I imagined my life without him—like this house, he is my only point of reference in this difficult existence, this unstable and frightening world. The thought of his leaving home fills me with a terror so strong, it takes my breath away. I feel like one of those seagulls covered in oil from a spill, drowning in a black tar of fear.

Nothing can relieve the pain. Not crying, laughing, screaming, begging. Nothing can change the past.

How can something so wrong feel so right?

...and my loneliness, always my loneliness - that airless bubble of despair that is slowing stifling me.

If I move, if I speak, if I so much as blink, I'm going to lose this battle.

I am overcome by a feeling of complete detachment. I am a mere object to these people. I am barely human any more.