I was scrolling through Instagram opening up old wounds and other cliches, clicking around through my memories in a search for some more understanding.

Did I know what I was getting into. I think I had an idea of what I was getting into but I was being misled the whole way through.

Did I have a plan. Not at all.

Did I have a feeling it would end up like this. God no.

I think I thought I was smarter than him. I didn't think I was being manipulated. I didn't feel like I was an object at first. I didn't think I was easily played. I definitely should have given more weight to what my friends were saying. I should have taken the advice of the objective cab driver who saw this all coming without knowing me or anyone else involved. It was inevitable. It was never going to be a good thing.

I took screenshots of photos I posted on instagram from before, during, and after. Photos where I can look and know exactly what I was feeling and what was motivating me to post. I figured I might write something about it later. Maybe it will help me with my novel. These feelings, conjuring them up to find links, to better understand the timeline.

This photo was taken the day after sleeping on a floor in a recording studio. It was a date, it was an audition, it was a stupid situation that I could see from a blurry distance but decided to just do it anyway. I didn't value myself. I wanted to see what would happen. I wanted to see how it would happen. I thought I was smarter.

I've been writing about this and it still feels unreal. I wrote a book about it to make sense of it. That's some nice jazz, that's a nice dress. Dissing myself to diss myself. I guess I'll keep writing about it.