The whole time I kept pretending that I didn’t know what the problem was, that I was caught in forces beyond my understanding, some inherited pattern, a prolonged case of bad luck, but I was lying to myself. I knew what the problem was. I know what the problem is.
The longer I tried to pretend ignorance, the more painful became the knowing. At first, it didn’t seem like such a big deal. A worthwhile hurting for the continuation of a stillborn hope.
It started to itch in the back of my mind. It made a buzzing sound, like a fly trapped inside on a summer day. The truth is a fly, buzzing against the window of consciousness, looking for the hole it came through, only the hole in my logic was repairing itself and there is no escape.
There is no escape.
Pretty soon, it was flying loopy, weird patterns in my head.
Almost as weird as the make-believe pattern I blamed.
Almost.
Of course, as soon as I let it know I knew, it was at me all the time.
As if somehow… it… knew… the only way out was through me, through the deepest, softest, wettest part of me.
Punch through like a bullet. Or chew through like a maggot. Maybe both.
It hasn’t quite escaped yet.
But it will.