I Think I Would Have Died If

Writing Is The Only Way I Know To Demand Justice From An Uncaring Universe.

Delia Picked At The Raw Sores Of Her Conscience...drunk Or Sober, Delia Lived In The Small Town In Her Heart, Ignoring The World In Which All Her Love Had Turned To Grief.

There Is A Place Where We Are Always Alone With Our Own Mortality, Where We Must Simply Have Something Greater Than Ourselves To Hold Onto-god Or History Or Politics Or Literature Or A Belief In The Healing Power Of Love, Or Even Righteous Anger.... A Reason To Believe, A Way To Take The World By The Throat And Insist That There Is More To This Life Than We Have Ever Imagined.

I Think I Would Have Died If There Hadn't Been The Women's Movement. It Gave Me A Vision That I Could Do Something Different, And It Gave Me An Understanding That I Wasn't A Monster, Or Sport, Or A Betrayer Of My Family.

For Years And Years, I Convinced Myself That I Was Unbreakable, An Animal With An Animal Strength Or Something Not Human At All. Me, I Told People, I Take Damage Like A Wall, A Brick Wall That Never Falls Down, Never Feels Anything, Never Flinches Or Remembers. I Am One Woman But I Carry In My Body All The Stories I Have Ever Been Told, Women I Have Known, Women Who Have Taken Damage Until They Tell Themselves They Can Feel No Pain At All.