So, apparently my anxiety has mounted to the point where sleeping in between the two entrances to my apartment so I can monitor the entrances of rapist murderers is no longer sufficiently soothing. I have progressed to turning on all of the lights and sleeping on top of a suitcase in my closet. I wish Ryan were here. I feel safe with him in bed next to me. It’s the only time I even go into my bedroom after what happened last summer. I’ve gotten four hours of sleep over the past three days. Help.
"Franz Kafka, the story goes, encountered a little girl in the park where he went walking daily. She was crying. She had lost her doll and was desolate.
Kafka offered to help her look for the doll and arranged to meet her the next day at the same spot. Unable to find the doll he composed a letter from the doll and read it to her when they met.
"Please do not mourn me, I have gone on a trip to see the world. I will write you of my adventures." This was the beginning of many letters. When he and the little girl met he read her from these carefully composed letters the imagined adventures of the beloved doll. The little girl was comforted.
When the meetings came to an end Kafka presented her with a doll. She obviously looked different from the original doll. An attached letter explained: “my travels have changed me… “
Many years later, the now grown girl found a letter stuffed into an unnoticed crevice in the cherished replacement doll. In summary it said: “every thing that you love, you will eventually lose, but in the end, love will return in a different form.”"
May Benatar, Kafka and the Doll: The Pervasiveness of Loss (via sequences)
easyreadingisdamnhardwriting, via rahze) Aug 22