Wednesday, Oct. 15, 2003 - 9:13 p.m.
We Are People Through Other People (African Bantu adage)

It's what hurts the most. How connected I felt to him in those few minutes before he slashed my throat. I was uneasy, too, I realize now in retrospect: but mainly I was aglow. I hadn't felt that emotionally open to another human being in a long, long time.

As I headed back to meet him in front of my apartment that night, I prayed about the uneasiness I felt. I believed it was mostly about not wanting to screw this up. How bewitching a combination: a pretty young boy who needed to talk, to seek my counsel, to lean on me. Help me open to being there for him, and be true to myself too.

My prayers were heard, I guess.

Now I replay the loop of his spiel over and over again, endlessly, in my head, and I can sometimes hear his insincerity. He made it all up, a pretext to get back into my apartment to kill me. Other times, especially in the early hours and days, I heard only a sad, mixed-up kid crying out for help, who suddenly snapped, turned murderous.

I don't know what's true.

I don't know what connection is, now. I used to be good at it. I used to unknowingly encourage it into being. People have always felt comfortable with me, opened up to me; I used to define myself by this gift. That was something I had to work on. And I did. I've tried to separate out the neurotic "need to be needed" from the bliss of simply enjoying human connection.

That's part of what I was praying about that night, walking to meet him.

So now here I am, and I don't know where I am.

Miles and I are getting along great, getting close. I don’t have the kind of triggers where I think he is going to suddenly attack me, but often when I feel particularly vulnerable with or open to him—and this often surfaces, surprise surprise, during sex—I get suddenly anxious about Diego or his brothers breaking into the apartment to kill us both. Any sudden noise will set me off.

Sunday night the wind blew the curtain inwards noisily and I cried out, then sobbed, briefly, while Miles held me.

I have no profound words of courage or hope to end these musings. With help, I shall do the things I must to keep on walking through this.

On the other side lies connectedness—with self and others—beyond my wildest prayers.