“I cannot do this,” she yelled at the paper. Kicking the chair away from the desk she stood up and started pacing the floor in her room, biting what was left of her right thumb nail.
Who was she kidding? She couldn’t write about what happened nor ask for the one thing she longed for the most. Looking upon the letter she started to write she saw how she couldn’t even address it properly. “Ah hell,” she said and sobbed as she paced back and forth flooded with memories she buried long ago.
“I’m not doing this with you again,” yelling at the ceiling. “You have taken everything away me, why should I give you anything! You do not deserve my thoughts, my so-called demons!”
Whirling around quicker than intended she stumbled while grabbing the telephone. Trembling uncontrollably she realized that she couldn’t dial the psychologist number. “I have to calm down,” she stated setting the phone down before dropping it and breaking it.
Didn’t the damn shrink tell her this was going to be an excruciatingly painful process? Come hell or high water she was going to have to find the strength to complete this exercise because she is in desperate need of peace.
Running her hands over her face and through her hair, she stabled herself enough to walk back over to the desk. To her dismay, during her ranting the notebook that was her journal was torn into pieces that littered the area from the desk down to the floor. Straightening up the mess she came across the one page of paper that was not ripped apart, not even crinkled. Shocked and amazed, she realized it was the letter she started to write.