I intend to report you. Yes, this is what I’m going to do. Since this is the only freedom I have left, I am going to take advantage of it fully. Which reminds me, by the way, that you once said I was a reporter. So this is what reporters do. They report. Then here is my first report.
I’m not angry. Do I sound angry? Maybe I am a little. I don’t even know how I feel. I’m shaky, I know that. I feel like something is going to be released, finally. My insides are trembling. Nervous, that’s the word. I feel nervous and I don’t even know why.
There is so much I want to say, I don’t even know where to start and I don’t even know who to address. Who am I addressing? You, the one I intend to report or the reader? Both, because I’m making it public and I know you are reading it too. You read everything I write.
Two reasons to be anxious: you and the reader. But first you. The fact that you are letting me report you. How bizarre. Why does it feel so unsettling? Because I’ve never spoken of you so overtly before. You have been my secret for such a long time and I’ve only spoken of you enigmatically.
Now I’m about to speak of you very bluntly for the first time. No more mystery. No more poems. No more parables. Just the plain truth, as raw as it gets, even if I’m afraid of how it might come out. I want to do it.
I need to do this. The time has come. No matter how hard it is and how much I shake and fear. I’m tired of keeping it bottled up inside, it’s driving me insane. Although I know I’m going to sound crazy to some. I don’t care. I’m not doing it for anyone else. I’m doing it for my sake and probably yours too… beloved goddess.