As I seem to have been granted temporary clemency from rabid thoughts, reflections pour out of me at an alarming rate. I think of all the heartache I subjected your beautiful father to. I think of everything I have put you through.

It is completely within reason for you to turn your back on me forever. It might even be the wisest decision. Saint Elizabeth was right to warn us from the rooms of Bedlam.

I am hopelessly unreliable, and though my love for you burns so brightly all would seem thrown into darkness were the sun to eclipse it, such feelings can still never excuse my condition.

November 3, 1988