"There isn’t really anything much in me that gnarls and bites or lashes out or schemes or any of that horrid old stuff that people seem to be full of. Or is there?"I’m just me. Nothing very much. But I’m nothing bad. Am I? Do I deserve all of this? Do I? I know what it feels like to be me and it doesn’t cause anyone any harm. Or does it? It’s just stuff and nonsense and gobbledegook and mess. And that’s where it ends. There isn’t really anything much in me that gnarls and bites or lashes out or schemes or any of that horrid old stuff that people seem to be full of. Or is there?
And I’m out of time and out of place and I shouldn’t be in any of these places, or any of these circumstances. Yet here I am. This isn’t my home. I also know that the place over the sea isn’t my home either. It's not Flagstaff. Not Phoenix. Not Glasgow. I don’t know where home is.
I suppose it’s in here, in these words – but this is all askew and screwed-up and nothing that anyone can relate to or understand! Even to me it seems confused and out of step with everything around me. It seems so right, but so utterly wrong at the same time. Identity. God, life’s so much easier if you don’t want one, or have much of one! If you just want to fit in and not stand out. But if you want to be yourself then that half-full presence is all you'll ever find. Once you recognise that you have a self, what else can you ever see in the world? All you'll hear is every thought echoing down through the great caverns inside of you. And you’ll never fill it all in, never forget it or step away from it. The world will always look far away and people will always sound dim and distant, and every time they speak you’ll find yourself stretching to hear and to understand. And there will always be an echo to every thought and every feeling and every hope and every intention that you have.
"Once you recognise that you have a self, what else can you ever see in the world? All you'll hear is every thought echoing down through the great caverns inside of you"
All I want is someone who has some vision for me, some belief in me, and some desire at least for some belief in themselves. Damn this stinking 21st century world with its lack of anything! What does it have? Bits of this and that, all fragmented and unrelated, all distracting and bombarding but without any meaning.
So I’m here. And all I feel absolutely heightened is my loneliness.
Why would Philip do that to me? Why would he?
Look at those trees out there in the dark and the way they take everything that every climate has to throw at them. They stand firm, they waver but they don’t fall.
Stand firm, Stephanie, stand firm. The wind can’t blow forever. It can't blow forever.