I wish I could stop the pain.
The pain of awful memories. Many are about others, it’s not just my stuff.
I wish Mr. Spock could make me forget.
I cry. A lot. Morning, noon and night. And in between.
But it’s better than the drugs that won’t let you cry. They seemed ok at first, until I realized they were creepier than what they were supposed to “fix.” And they actually cause more depression.
But Lord, if only I could steer away from the thousands of memories. Unfortunately, there aren’t a hell of a lot of good ones.