…And then, something filmic actually goes and happens. Something huge. And you spend a week having your life written by Iain Banks. And not in a good way.
You find yourself heartily wishing for this to still be nowhere, for it all to stop, because you know the whole fucked up mess can’t get anything but worse, for everyone concerned. For some, much, much worse. But it’s not a film, it’s life. No rewrite. No alternate ending. No directors cut.
In some ways, in fact in every way but one, nothing has actually changed. But that one thing changes everything - the point of view shifts, One Big Lie is revealed, and the whole meaning of so much stuff is forever changed. Betrayal so huge it feels like a death. Or a murder. It contaminates memory, it stains the past. It’s such a shocking thing, how one fact can trigger a chain reaction, and show you how utterly wrong you were about a chunk of your life. The past is still there, those things all happened, but the meaning has been changed, soiled and sullied.
So now we pick ourselves up, and we keep going. We remember this is exceptional. We try to remember how to trust. Because this is life, and we must live.