I hate the mornings when my mind is in that dark place. When my chest is heavy and tight. When my arms and legs feel like they have turned to lead. All I want to do is lie in my bed and stare into nothingness, hoping that any moment, sleep will give me a slight reprieve from the agony inside.
I tell myself to get up. Listen to the words of people. Just get up. Make yourself get the hell out of bed. So I make it to the side of my bed with my clothes in a pile next to me and I just sit. The clock ticks along. Time goes by, and I am moving in slow motion.
I take my small blade. Put it against the flesh of my thigh. The sharp prick as it first breaks the skin echoes in my mind. I move the blade along. I can’t feel the pain in my leg, but in my mind, it’s like the sound of a diamond on glass. The crystal sound in my dull and slow mind.
I sit between the voices. Not voices in my ears, but the internal plight of myself against myself. One side urges me to move. To get up. Get dressed. And the other, like a hand on my shoulder, whispers in my ear and asks me What’s the point?
I can’t answer that question. I don’t know the answer. What is the point? So I pull up my knees and wrap my arms around them. I am between the two sides of myself arguing, and maybe the only thing I’m going to manage to do today is breathe.
I really hate when it feels like I am crying on the inside and no one can see. I don’t even know why it’s there, it’s been a couple of days now, even an attempt at self-harming yesterday didn’t change it. In fact half way through self-harming I stopped because it felt pointless in that moment.
I sit outside today on my decking and watch my granddaughter. She sits in the sun with her teddy bear, waves at me and blows me a kiss. Then she decides to get up, race over to me and in that way toddlers have, shout Par-par as she runs, because of course she hasn’t learnt to say Granddad. And even with those little arms around my neck, and the chocolate face against mine, inside it feels like I am alone. Maybe it is because I am writing Teddy 3.5, maybe it is just because of other things. I am not sure. I do know I hate when I feel this way and why I am writing this here, just to get it out.
Maybe it will pass later, I hope so, until then, if I am quiet this is why. The world feels like it’s moving and I have stopped. I’m caught in something waiting to catch up. Maybe tomorrow I can stop feeling like I’m looking in from the outside.
P.s I will remember to buy a damn light bulb today.
Not with the past; even as much as I want to beat him with the question of why until he is down on the floor, and because I want him to be sorry for what he’s done.
What I wish is that I could take hold of him and not say look what you did to me as a child, but rather, look what you’ve done to me in my life now. Today; when everyday is a constant battle. I wish I could give him a day of it.
Most days, I think I have gone somewhere in my mind. Apart from writing, my voice is still missing. I still cannot bear to look in a mirror any more than I have to. I hate the face that stares back at me. It is not mine. I wish I could cut it away.
My father was very nice to me this weekend. He had to have his cat put down. She was actually mine and he came to my house to drop her things off. He was concerned I was okay with her passing.
She had not been my cat for years, but this side of my father is the hard one to deal with. He’s nice and caring and I’m walking over a pit on a broken plank waiting for it to give way.
I have to remind myself of the reason he had my cat. I had to leave everything behind to enable myself to recover from drug abuse, and the reason I was doing that was the because of the life he had given me.