I’m fed up and I’m angry. My throat feels tighter so less air travels in and out meaning I’m always close to suffocating. I feel on the brink of throwing things and yet I want to cry, all the while I feel the urge to curl up and sleep.
A banging door, one of my children shouting, my husband coughing, a siren in the distance all effects me the same, it’s an irritating noise, almost personally directed at me to push me over the edge.
My short term memory is so bad, I have a genuine fear of driving away from the house and forgetting the way back.
Most of the time I am not within myself, I am someone else. I hear a voice speak but it’s not me. I’m removed from this body. The only things that bring me back are the intense rage and sadness or are they the things that make me leave?
I don’t feel hunger. When I eat what my husband makes me, I can barely taste it. The only feelings I have are aching, tiredness and a relentless nausea. Sometimes I see blood on my hands from my cracked skin – that’s new, it’s been like that for the last three weeks now. It hasn’t responded to any creams. Like my tummy bug, my body has given up on being healed. I don’t care. I refuse to see a gp. I don’t want to see anybody, trust anybody.
I want to be alone. I don’t want my kids to wonder why I’m so withdrawn. I don’t want to be short tempered with them. I don’t want noise. I want peace. I don’t want mess, I don’t want chaos. I want to hide.
I want to hide. I don’t want to face my life right now. I’m a coward. A selfish coward.