Detaching from my emotional triggers.
L'œil, l'œuf, la poulpe...
The poem, the letter, the books…
La cagoule, les chaînes, les toilettes…
And so much more.
These trigger my desire, my attachment.
I moved so far into his head, to connect, to understand why he did certain things...
This intellectual connection and desire in my veins like a drug.
Une autre façon de posséder à travers des images, des mots...
Part of my submission was my opening to him like that - being on the same wavelength.
And if I see a photo, or connect to these references, I'm right back there.
I can feel it, see it, react to it.
Training myself not to react.
Keeping my silence.
Owning my share of the triggers.
Wriggling out from under his grasp.
///
Letting go of you.
Letting go of the eye, the egg, the tentacles.
Breaking the chains.
Stab the eye !
Smash the egg !
Eat the tentacle !
Stab the eye !
Crush the egg !
Swallow the tentacle !
Et ce sera une des dernières fois que…
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