By same as above
Date: 23 May 1998
A Woman Betrayed
I sat up most of the night, smoking what remained in my pack of cigarettes, trying to feel
something real about my predicament. But i experienced only an uncomfortble awareness of myself -- of my own slow physical movements as I sat there smoking; watching the objects in my dimly-lit room through little wisps of smoke. And I felt the movements of my thoughts. I wasn't really in my thoughts, but apart frm them, like someone reading about herself in her own diary. Could this be how grief started, i wondered -- a kind of dissociation, a kind of absence of feeling?
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