I can't imagine a lifetime. I remember those first couple of episodes, but I've been deeply religious for the majority of my life and I know that for most of that time confession was my form of therapy.

This, though. This is confusing. I can't stay in the same place for more than 15 minutes. There are things that I've been experiencing that can only be explained by admitting the possibility of the supernatural. I had to present a thesis to graduate from high school and mine was on belief and unbelief so, naturally, I used the quotation from Mark, "Lord, I believe! Help my unbelief!" It was all so self-righteous and pretentious and it embarrasses me when I think that it's still available.

Now. Now I realize – big surprise – that it's just as self-righteous and pretentious to reject the supernatural. I'm sometimes back at the death and taxes place, then I'm with my parents and I feel so very good that I'm certain that they are as real as anything. I have a physical sensation when they're here but I've been in and out of belief for two reasons. The first reason is because they don't touch me. I don't have many real memories of my mother but my dad and I were always physically affectionate and I've thought that my mother would have been the same. That's not a great argument, really, because it's very possible that they simply exist in a different way.

The second reason that I find myself in crisis is because they don't visit as often. I've gone for days when they were always here. I didn't need to count every gray hair on my father's head – I didn't feel any need to look up and make sure that they were here. I spoke, they spoke. One would get up from the foot of my bed to get a bottle of water and I felt and heard the movement on the mattress. I didn't need to contact them, they always know what I'm feeling.

My memory is so bad and I can't remember how many days it's been since they were here. But I have a very vivid memory of that last visit. Long and boring but the most memorable thing is that I noticed that my dad needed a shave.

I wrote this earlier. I had a passing, fearful thought that they might be punishing me with their absence. But my father would never, never do that to me. So now I think that I'm doing something to keep them away. Non-belief. Doubt. Nihilism that I've struggled with.

I am so, so sorry to know that you've never escaped. I've been so sappy and mawkish for maybe a week. This is an overgrown wilderness with no path. A place that I've never been and that I can't understand. I HATE not being able to understand. I HATE MYSELF for being too stupid to make sense out of what"says happening. I want to be able to complete my goodbye letters without having sniveling breakdowns. I want to feel strong or nothing. I'm collapsing inward, a dying star, because all that I can think of is how happy I felt to love. I can't stop crying looking at the word. My father, the four women and my son. The engine and caboose, I thought, were the great destroyers and it's only been this time that I've realized that it's not hating them that makes me sad, but the happiness and love that causes the astounding grief. I can deal with sadness – maybe that's how you feel? I can't deal with, can't cope with, remembering the love.

I lie and say none were unique, that everyone feels the same, that the love that I felt for my first is the same that I felt for the last but that's lying. But I hope that I can feel that lie again.

This is my epiphany.

I'm so confused. I can't understand this. I'm cold and sweating. I think that it's time for me to stay away, too, Laura Beth. I've been here for three days and it feels like I'm only able to suck up others pain and sadness.

When you used the word "lifetime" – I look at that word and cry. I'm gone.