The Subsequent Fall Was Inevitable... in Chapter 9 : Oil Above Water

Does every good day have to be followed by an absolute shiter? Today was Talking Therapy day. I already had my back up, especially seeing as I never got to go home at the weekend there because of the bastarding weather. Then I went into college and Token was doing his usual impression of a precocious, mansplaining, sycophantic little cunt with his head up rammed fully up his arse, I know more about his GI Tract and Urinary System than could ever be deemed appropriate; we all do, staff and lecturers alike as we’re all expected to listen to his daily broadcasts on his gut, urethra and bowel when he holds court. So I maybe wasn’t in the best headspace for a lunch break therapy session.

I get there and she asks me how I’m feeling. I tell her that I’m bloody annoyed. She asks why and as I’m wittering about Token it unlocks something inside, like I can physically feel the locks turn and click open inside, before I know where I am I’m ranting about people and how they all either act like Token; preaching to me, dictating to me, telling me I’m wrong for their reasons, OR they’re out to break me emotionally and physically. It led on to Ma and Daddy and he games they have individually played with me, on to Jay and how he knocked me about for a couple of years, on to Elle and the mental abuse she put me through and then on to Him and what he did. I managed to keep it together somehow. Then I went back to class. I stayed composed through yet another assessment but the minute it was over I HAD to get out of there. My head was spinning, it was getting warmer, stomach churning, I could feel the vomit burning it’s way up. Swift exits seem to be my thing. I got to the toilet just in time. Tears and vomit are not a good combination. I pulled myself back together and went back to class and convinced myself that staying back in the library would be a good distraction AND I would get some work done. I managed to get some work done for an assessment that I have next week, but come quarter to five, it all started again, I had to get out, I got as far as my car and then I broke. Hot tears burning my cheeks as they escaped from my eyes. Each one a memory, so much more than just an emotion. A lifetime of hurt scalding my face. It all went very dark inside. I couldn’t come back to mine, I can’t run home, I don’t want to be around my mother…it all got very bleak, very dark. 40 minutes I sat and cried for. In those forty minutes I fought urges and dark thoughts, I contemplated and dismissed various options both good and the not-so-good. Must every good day be followed by this inner conflict? It’s so fucking tiring. I think I’d really rather be numb than have to go through this, surely it would be easier to feel nothing at all than constantly having to go through this turmoil? I just want to be free of all this, I just want to be better. I just want to be ok.

I don’t think I want to be me anymore, but what other options are there? It all just feels so fucking hopeless sometimes.

Last updated March 21, 2018