#day1403 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yourflowersfirst · 7 months ago

Text

day 1,403

pages 117-124

my whole body was shaking, trembling, like an animal left to freeze outside. i couldn’t remember this last time i was this mad, this vehemently angry.

“i fucking hate this. i want them to pay for what they did to me,” my voice rose an octave every few words. “why? why me? why did i have to endure all that? that goddamn..?”

my on and off therapist of 8 years just looked at me sadly. “i wish i had an answer for you. i am so, so sorry. all i can help you do is get through this, the now."

the response was this: i picked up some of the throw pillows, amazon brand, off the couch, and i threw them angrily across the room. “i don’t want pity. i want… i don’t know what i want. jesus. shit. retribution.” i was shouting now. so loud i was sure the people in the other office buildings next door could hear the shake in my cadence.

i was angry, of course, but all the anger was directed at myself. how i could let this happen. i was still pillow soft and honey sweet, but do you know the violence it took for me to get that gentle?

my therapist got up and got me a cup of water. she brought it over to me, also putting the pillows back, a tentative gesture. it did nothing. the water spilled to the floor, tears streaming down my face. my voice was still loud, but shakier now. “i’m sorry. i’m so fucking sorry. tell me what to do to stop feeling this way, please, just tell me. i’ll do anything.”

she said nothing. she simply got paper towels to dab up my mess.

i walked out of her office in a sweaty panic, right after i coughed up my whopping $50 copay. shoutout to shitty american health insurance. i knew i was in no state to drive though, so i sat in my car, the midday sun warming every bone in my body, as i took deep shuddering breaths the way rashel instructed me to. in through my nose. hold for 10 seconds. slow exhale through my mouth. repeat. try to ignore the tears still making their way down my face. grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn snow white. do not vomit. do not vomit.

the focused breathing helped a little bit. i sat in my car for… i don’t even know how long. 20 seconds or 20 minutes, it all felt like a haze. i eventually checked my phone: 13 messages i still hadn’t replied to. apple maps told me it was a 16 minute drive home, and i opted to drive home rather than text a bunch of people back. a conversation took too much effort and i really did not want to start crying again, or worse, get angry and lash out. i’d already done that enough in my life.

the drive back to my childhood home passed in a dissociative blur. i didn’t get into an accident, so- silver linings, i guess. once home, i replied to as many texts i could stomach, and i laid down. my anger from earlier finally cooled off, the hatred and need for justice coming down from a hot boil. a relief, truly, because when you get in such a state, you sometimes fear you will feel that way forever. time stretches on long, reality distorted. you start to feel as though everyone is out to hurt you and tear you apart, especially men. your skin will turn to steel, and one wrong look from someone, especially men, will make you spew out venom, strong enough to kill.

later that night, at dinner, once my parents were home- the conversation had stilled a bit. my sister was out with izzy and halee, so it was just me, mamascookies, and my dad. my mother had made butter noodles and pork chops, food i was picking at with my fork. i was still terrified of calories, of imaginary numbers.

“how are your summer classes going?” my mother prompted in between bites.

i shrugged, deciding to omit the fact that i’d dropped my session B summer classes. these actions would have consequences later. “good. i finished my essay. i hate excel, though.” at least that last bit wasn’t a lie on its own.

“it’s good to learn,” my father said, finally speaking to me for the first time in 2 days. “we need to go over your taxes soon, i’ll show you how to make a table for it.”

i groaned. “why do you hate me?” causing my mother to laugh a little, and my father to roll his eyes. i mimicked him, rolling mine as well. even though i knew my taxes were an issue i needed to address. i had no professional work scheduled and i’d owe close to $8,000 come april 15, meanwhile i had maybe $300 in savings. i hated myself.

once i sufficiently avoided most of my dinner (“you hardly ate!” “i’m not hungry- it’s my meds, plus i ate a snack earlier.”) i headed upstairs to watch succession and try to ignore my thoughts. still rattling around my brain like heavy rocks.

my days that summer were often boring, even if i had random outbursts of emotion, and mood swings so intense i’d get physically dizzy. staying in ohio for 2 months had definitely become like a prison to me, surrounded by memories that brought on flashbacks and night terrors whenever i tried to sleep. i’d wake up at 4 am, my dog concerned because i’d been screaming quietly, the total darkness of my room suffocating. i’d go downstairs to get water, try to settle my racing heart, and i’d often accidentally wake up my mother, ever a light sleeper. “what are you doing up?” she’d inevitably ask. “couldn’t sleep,” i’d always reply, my hands trembling, the nightmares still vivid and clear in my half awake brain. my mom would always sigh and tell me to just go to bed. despite it being 3 years ago, i still had bad dreams about kyle at least twice a week.

that night was no different. i don’t always have night terrors, especially when i’m living in arizona, but i felt haunted that week in particular. therapy was good for me, i knew, but i hadn’t gone to therapy since 2019. a lot happened in 4 years, a lot i didn’t want to unpack for this reason. healing often feels like reopening wounds and pouring salt into them. being aware of this did not help me, especially when i was awake at 4:27 in the morning, my bangs sticking to my forehead and nausea creeping its way through my nervous system. i wanted to take dramamine and hydroxyzine until i passed out, but i was out of both.

i eventually did fall back asleep after distracting myself with music. music helped more than people did anymore. i woke up the next day at around ten, a zombie, ready to start over. at least my sister seemed okay. she’d gotten in around midnight, also slept late, and had more plans with izzy and halee later that day. i tried very hard not to be jealous at all.

i’m probably not even a person. i'm a bug. ask anyone who has ever loved me, if they even exist. i never text, i never call, i hardly think about myself at all. i lay in a swamp of my misery, the water turned to sludge over my poor heart years ago, thick and impossible to remove. my exhaustion will consume me and i’m too tired of the truth.

sometimes i pray so hard for god to materialize at the foot of my bed that it starts to happen; then i beg it to stop, and it does. it scares me so bad that i think i’m going to die soon, the back and forth never ending, any human interaction i have is close to god damn meaningless.

it’s your privilege to find me incomprehensible and unwanted. i gave you a few minutes, you can keep them long after i’m gone. i’m full of suicides, of rotting corpses, of brittle skeleton, of huge pieces of flesh, infecting the remaining parts of me. maybe i am already dead and i don’t know it yet.

#day1403

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