I don't know if writing Carnal Fear is healthy for me or the worst possible thing I could be doing. It riles me up. Brings back all these memories and feelings and I have no place for them.

Sometimes I stop as soon as I hit my 1100 words even though I could keep on going. Sometimes I feel like I could keep going forever or until every bit of me has gone into the computer, into the story. But I stop because I get scared.

I've been thinking of this as writing that is close to the bone but that's not even accurate. It's writing that feels like my soul is shredding.

I used to yell at my kids when I worked on this thing. I know, that's rotten but it's true and God knows if there is one thing I pride myself on it's my honesty. (unless I'm planning a hoax, but that's different somehow).

I'd yell at them when they interrupted me. I'd yell at them because I was just bursting with anger and loss. I'd be sitting here writing and crying, the tears just pouring down my face and Cam would ask me some question and I'd yell that I didn't know. I don't do that now. I sometimes say I'm writing and I can't think, I can't hear you right now, I need to finish this.

So I sit here listening to the same songs over and over (right now it's Adam singing ooh la la on 4/27/02) writing and writing and stopping and thinking I'll never breathe again but I have stopped yelling.

Ever since I started my search for the definition of forgiveness I seem to have lost a lot of my anger. I don't know if I said I found the definition that worked for me. The Real Live Preacher sent it to me when I wrote to him.

I was struck by the kindness of this man answering a total stranger, a lost stranger looking for some reason and shape to use to rebuild her life. Because that's what I have to do. I can't have my old life back again. I need to create a new one and I guess I am finally ready. Which is not to say I don't miss Danny like mad cause I do but somehow I'm suddenly able to let my anger at him, at me, at his mother, at the entire state of New Jersey, at God, at the woman who sold us the van, all that anger and let it go.

I'm writing about anger right now. Sutter's anger. She's very very angry. She's so angry she cuts her arms to let the anger out. I feel so sad for her. She's been through so much and she's going to go through so much more. She's going to be happy then sad then happy again but it's all a long journey.

I can see her as I write her. She's in her basement apartment, screaming and throwing everything around because someone asked her something simple. Asked her not to hurt herself anymore. So simple to the person who asked her and so hard for her to say yes. She is too angry to say yes. She can only rage against the world but the world is so large and she's so small all her rage leads her right back where she started.

Maybe seeing that in her lets me see it in me. I can rage and rage and rage and turn into a bitter horrible person but it won't bring my Danny back, will it? It would actually drive him further away because I wouldn't be the woman who mattered to him ten thousand times more than his writing. I wouldn't be the one who could make him laugh, the one who he made laugh until I couldn't breathe. I'd be the kind of person he couldn't stand.

I was looking at old email where he told me that Derek wasn't gone, I was keeping him alive in my heart. And now I hear that from everyone, Danny's not dead as long as I keep him alive in my heart. I don't want to keep him in a bitter angry heart. I want to keep him in a warm and loving and large heart. A heart big enough to let me look at all the rotten things that go on and still keep on believing that somehow it will be okay. A heart big enough to look at all the good things that go on and throw my arms open and embrace IT, whatever it may be.