Well, not really, I didn't find "the box" I have been looking for. The one that had all my journals and drawings in it. It turns out I'd taken those things along with the beginnings of my book out of that box several years ago and placed them, yet another place, for safe keeping. I discovered that location today!
Along with that discovery and my writings, I found a familiar heaviness. I had forgotten how intense that period in my life was. It only takes a glance at my writings to remember. I feel a little dread.
At that same time I somehow feel proud that I produced this volume of work with such raw emotion. I didn't know I had it in me.
As I read through what I intended to be the beginnings of this book, an exerp from a poem I wrote, followed by an introduction, I can't help but wonder if the world is ready to see this project. It is a dark black journey into an abyss. Can readers struggle through the horror to find the hope? I wonder..........