BBD – Call it Instinct

There’s a longer account over here, but it leaves out the most important detail. As will undoubtedly be obvious, I left it out for self-preservation reasons. When CIA-through-FBI, Booz Allen, and whoever else is trying to drive you to suicide, well, you try not to let it be known when they got close.

When, less than a week before the Squidgate sentencing hearing, I woke to find hair coming out by the handfuls, I came about as close to calling it quits right then as I ever have. Ever have.

Why? Because I had assumed in that moment that losing my hair (one of my stronger points as far as looks prior to that, when it behaves anyway) would mean that there was no way, no way…

What the f*** is your name already anyway? Sick of guessing and having Obama’s thugs throw me guesses.

Anyhow, no way it would work with Janus, R, Adrienne-2, “no one/no. 1”.

Then, as I started to wonder how and when I was going to end it, I remembered back several weeks. When I was trying to figure out what it was I was feeling for him (you…are you reading this?).

I realized during that that it didn’t matter what he looked like. Not anymore. Not after Jim and I were through. Not after he (you) inspired me, pushed me, slapped me out of relative complacency, and kept me walking.

It wasn’t physical after that. It wasn’t even obsession. It was way past that, more like worship with the realization this person is human, not divine.

The point was I realized that I loved this person enough that even if he were horribly scarred with acid, I’d still love him, still be there, by his side.

I don’t know if you’re reading this. I don’t know why, if you are, you haven’t contacted me.

Certainly there is something to fear (though that is mostly fear itself as the man said). But you have nothing to fear from me. Not now. Not ever.

I love you and I need you. The rest, whatever it is, is just details. Trust me.

PS: F*** the government. Contact me directly, openly. They hate that.

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