Pussy is a Cuntdesending Word
Last night seemed a fitting end to my few weeks of healing at cpc. Life has a way of clicking into place when you lay on a community mattress under a meteor shower, surrounded by love, peace, and acceptance. Though it sounds cheesy as hell, everything the past week of YI seemed beautiful. Even the tomato I ate seemed the sweetest things I've tasted. All the mauled fragments of my mind drifted back together into myself. Like always, leaving was utterly unbearable. Reality has yet to set in, and I still haven't cried. Everything is just rather numb. Until this summer, I don't believe I'd ever fully appreciated the extent of openness, acceptance, and community at cpc. I'm not sure if this summer served as an opening into a bright year, or simply the eye of a hurricane. However, as I was told multiple times this week, things are what you make them.