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She had no doubt the man would kill her. Stupid things went skating through her mind--she'd never told her mother how much she loved her chocolate cupcakes... or Felicia what a kind friend she'd been... or Keith that it was cool and mature that he owned a house, even if it was in Brooklyn. ↗
The way I see it, the blue is the stuff you can't control, life's major heartbreak and struggles, that feeling of devastation so massive and brutal it inflicts permanent damage on the heart and spirit that can never be undone and will always be there, spewing somewhere in a corner of your mind like deep scars you'll have with you you're whole life. The green you also can't control. But that's the part that reminds you life is worth living. It's not the here-and-there type of good stuff that happens every day either. The green is the stuff that comes in huge doses that slap you in the face when you least expect it and brings a light to all that you are through growth, bravery, and goodness, and love. It's the stuff that picks you up when you're at the bottom and makes you keep on going even when you're sure you can't. That's the green. ↗
When it got really bad, when nothing else got me through, I was thinking of you. How you tilt your head when you laugh; the way you eat your cereal really fast so that it doesn’t go soggy; how you squint your eyes and scrunch up your face into a grimace, every time anyone mentions eggs.” Hooch dropped his voice even more, until Matt had to lean closer to hear the whisper. “Your shit-eating grin when you wave your ass into my face, telling me to fuck you. The sound you make when you cum, going straight to my cock and blowing my mind. The smell of your sweat right after sex ..." Hooch paused, pulling in a breath. "And when I wasn't sure if I could make it through another hour, then I thought of your face that looks so damned young when you're asleep, and I remembered how you sometimes say my name, and how the sound of your voice makes me ache inside.” Hooch fell silent and Matt stared at him. Wide-eyed, frozen in shock. Insides churning, a pain he hadn't known before, travelling from his heart throughout his body, and it felt so fucking good. Understanding with every fibre of his being what Hooch had said in too many words. More than he’d ever used before, and without those three simple ones that would have sufficed. ↗
In another corner Nathaniel murmured to Maura, "You must know, Miss O'Connell, I . . . I loved you even before I saw you. It was your father's way of talking." Maura shook her head. "You mustn't say that. It's not my dear da's words that should do the wooing," she said gently. "I'd rather be cared for . . . for what I am myself." Nathaniel nodded. "I'll not say more. But I will tell you what I think I'm going to do." And what is that I'm going to California to search for gold." And do you think, Nathaniel Brewster, you'll find it?" I do. But it won't be as fine as what's here," Nathaniel said with a shy smile. "Maura O'Connell . . . will . . . will you . . . wait for me to come back?" Maura was silent. Will you?" You're a fine young man, Mr. Brewster. I can only say I'll not forget you. ↗
[...] Но вот что слишком немногими испытано, что очаровательность, которую всему дает любовь, вовсе не должна, по-настоящему, быть мимолетным явлением в жизни человека, что этот яркий свет жизни не должен озарять только эпоху искания, стремления, назовем хотя так: ухаживания, или сватания, нет, что эта эпоха по-настоящему должна быть только зарею, милою, прекрасною, но предшественницею дня, в котором несравненно больше и света и теплоты, чем в его предшественнице, свет и теплота которого долго, очень долго растут, все растут, и особенно теплота очень долго растет, далеко за полдень все еще растет. Прежде было не так: когда соединялись любящие, быстро исчезала поэзия любви. Теперь у тех людей, которые называются нынешними людьми, вовсе не так. Они, когда соединяет их любовь, чем дольше живут вместе, тем больше и больше озаряются и согреваются ее поэзиею, до той самой поры, позднего вечера, когда заботы о вырастающих детях будут уже слишком сильно поглощать их мысли. Тогда забота более сладкая, чем личное наслаждение, становится выше его, но до той поры оно все растет. То, что прежние люди знали только на мимолетные месяцы, нынешние люди сохраняют в себе на долгие, долгие годы. Отчего это так? А это уж секрет; я вам, пожалуй, выдам его. Хороший секрет, славно им пользоваться, и не мудрено, только надобно иметь для этого чистое сердце и честную душу, да нынешнее понятие о правах человека, уважение к свободе того, с кем живешь. Только, - больше и секрета нет никакого. Смотри на жену, как смотрел на невесту, знай, что она каждую минуту имеет право сказать: "я недовольна тобою, прочь от меня"; смотри на нее так, и она через девять лет после твоей свадьбы будет внушать тебе такое же поэтическое чувство, как невеста, нет, более поэтическое, более идеальное в хорошем смысле слова. Признавай ее свободу так же открыто и формально, и без всяких оговорок, как признаешь свободу твоих друзей чувствовать или не чувствовать дружбу к тебе, и тогда, через десять лет, через двадцать лет после свадьбы, ты будешь ей так же мил, как был женихом. ↗
Of course, I should have known the kids would pop out in the atmosphere of Roberta's office. That's what they do when Alice is under stress. They see a gap in the space-time continuum and slip through like beams of light through a prism changing form and direction. We had got into the habit in recent weeks of starting our sessions with that marble and stick game called Ker-Plunk, which Billy liked. There were times when I caught myself entering the office with a teddy that Samuel had taken from the toy cupboard outside. Roberta told me that on a couple of occasions I had shot her with the plastic gun and once, as Samuel, I had climbed down from the high-tech chairs, rolled into a ball in the corner and just cried. 'This is embarrassing,' I admitted. 'It doesn't have to be.' 'It doesn't have to be, but it is,' I said. The thing is. I never knew when the 'others' were going to come out. I only discovered that one had been out when I lost time or found myself in the midst of some wacky occupation — finger-painting like a five-year-old, cutting my arms, wandering from shops with unwanted, unpaid-for clutter. In her reserved way, Roberta described the kids as an elaborate defence mechanism. As a child, I had blocked out my memories in order not to dwell on anything painful or uncertain. Even as a teenager, I had allowed the bizarre and terrifying to seem normal because the alternative would have upset the fiction of my loving little nuclear family. I made a mental note to look up defence mechanisms, something we had touched on in psychology. ↗
#alters #dissociation #dissociative #dissociative-identity-disorder #embarrassment
