Vengeance

Day 619.

I am incandescent with rage. I could set light to myself right now.

Raging at the loss of my boy in this life. There’s so many layers to this: Relief, Acceptance, Sadness, Fury, Love, Forgiveness, Yearning, Serenity, Rage.

I watched Tony Scott’s Man on Fire last night. The hellraising revenge of a man who lost a love, a connection so precious. And yes! I wanted to hire him. I wanted to do what he was doing. Clean, unmerciful, pure revenge. I am incandescent. I am a woman on fire.

I am disappointed in myself that I am not out there doing just that with my mind sharp and lazer-like in a quest to show my love in avenging killing spree.

No Sheila! It’s not lukelove!

No Sheila! It’s not the way forward.

But oh how I wish I had the balls to execute everyone who was a part of Luke’s death.

I am going to stop resisting this fantasy. I’m going to go with this, as I do on a rollercoaster - not resist. And I’m going to see where it leads. See what it brings me.

It’s partly triggered by the news that major newspapers won’t cover self-published books - just as policy. I get it, I do. There’s a lot of shit out there, and maybe my book is shit too. I reason with myself, my therapists words echo in my mind: But a publisher would take most of the money. Money away from Luke’s charity. This is an exercise to let people know I am here, that I am sitting them down and making them tea, the British way to soothe their woes. I hear you ladies. I hear you Mums of America, Mums of the world.

But enough Mother Teresa shit for now, because, today I am livid. In-can-fucking-descent with fury.

And that is my right.