More and more, she feels detached from her own life, her own body, her own mind.  There are those moments of total clarity when she thinks at last she’s worked out her own inner secrets – she’s up, up and away, soaring above the world like some unstoppable zeppelin – then, without warning, she crashes down to the reality that she’s not happy, perhaps she never was, perhaps it was all self-denial, lies, perhaps she never will be, perhaps this is the way it will be forever, nothing will change.[br][br]This is one of the low points.  It was marked by the argument last night.  She swears she had a right to get so angry, but now, 12 hours later, she’s feeling unsure.  As usual.  And now, she’s even reached that typical point where she wonders if any of her emotions are real at all, what she can trust, what she should follow through, what she should ignore.  But how does one ignore something one feels so passionately and strongly, as though everything rested on that one moment?  How do you convince yourself ‘it’s not real’ like something out of ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’?  How do you make it through the night without tossing and turning, fuming, hearing all the angry things you want to say?  How do you make it to the morning, when you feel differently, without first saying things you might regret later? [br][br]Then again, maybe those things need to be said.  She’s not sure.  IS there really any justification for saying he’d turned into an evil bastard?  Or that she hated him?  Granted, he was being a bully.  He’d switched into that strange creature he sometimes becomes, where he doesn’t get violent, but everything she says is cut off and smashed to dust, so that nothing she says seems to hold any intelligence, reason, point, and she’s backed into the proverbial corner, where it’s so dark all she can see is the hate emanating from his eyes – of course she hated him them.  [br][br]He doesn’t even know he gets like that, though.  Maybe she’s wrong, but she can’t help but feel she understands people and human behaviour a bit better than he does – example: she always knows something is wrong, with him, before he is willing to admit it himself.  He radiates something she senses.  He’s different.[br][br]Maybe this self-denial is why he seems so unresponsive when she tells him of the great inner revelations she’s been having lately.  Maybe that’s why they don’t seem to matter as much to him.  Because he’s got some inner revelations to realise himself, but every time she points it out he seems to think she’s just being crazy…as always.[br][br]The cycle, the cycle…it’s the one thing they can’t seem to talk about.  Maybe they’re more alike than either of them realises.  Maybe he’s a little crazy, himself.  And maybe that’s fine…as long as he realises it, too.[br][br]Maybe….