Surprisingly Sane

I never thought I would forget his face, not completely at all but as the years went on the features faded slowly one by one. I had one picture left that could not be deleted. My mind had put it in the recycle bin long ago, but my computer decided to set it as a background, even though I turned my back on the relationship. That ship was designed to sink everyone who boarded it from the beginning.

I ended up being the only passenger in the end to set sail.

The saying goes sometimes you must dance with the devil and that’s exactly what I proceeded to do. In a misty dive of a venue claiming to be a snooker bar and after drinking several ‘death in the afternoon’ concoctions he had me in his grasp. It was as quick as a match catches alight, But I could see behind his eyes something wicked lay dormant. A wise man once sung that death is not the end, if only I heard him sing it before it was the end for me.

As the night turned into dawn my drink choice changed ’clarity ’an easy drink to make, Fast forward a few years and ironically for me I didn’t get this after it ended…instead I remained partially living in a body that held bones as shattered as a glass after its been dropped on the kitchen floor. My bloodstream filled with disappointment and mainly vodka and as I look beside me a trail of blood, was it mine or his? Shots had been fired from both of us through words that stung like a thousand venomous snakes teeth piercing through my thick grey skin, But I was the only one left with wounds bleeding rapidly. My hand was frail and shaking uncontrollably, I wrap my arms around my ribcage not squeezing too hard in case I crack inside completely.

I knew my mind was playing tricks on me. Tell me I was delusional. Tell me I am imaging this. There is a pounding earthquake of a headache shaking my mind. My eyes are rolling out of their sockets from disbelief and my vision completely dispersed. I am shaking and I can hear a faint drumming. It’s getting faster and faster. Is this what a heart attack feels like? Is it true you can die from having your heart broken?

Doom doom, doom doom.

It’s getting louder. Can’t you hear it? Tell me you can hear it?

Doom doom. Doom doom

WHY CAN’T YOU HEAR IT? Grip your chest and tell me you can’t feel it… LISTEN JUST LISTEN!!

DOOM DOOM DOOM DOOM.

Oh god, this is it. This was how it was meant to end from the start, Overdosing on panic.

DOOM.

DOOM.

DOOM.

Silence…

After I took a deep breath, I noticed my grey skin had turned white. Not as white as snow, but I was cold. The veins I could still make out to see were no longer the colour of a beautiful sea along the coast of Italy. There was no rapid current running through them.

Whoever said love can leave a hole in your heart was wrong.

For mine …

was completely missing.

Now, to not waste your time or having to re live through what felt like hell I’m going to skip over the honeymoon stage. You might be thinking, what? Surely, we need to know the path that lead to this induced disaster and I often used to wonder why a breakup really hurts so much? Maybe because your mind constantly plays the good that happened and forgets the bad. That’s what you see in the movies right, each partner goes their separate ways THE END. But its not the end. Why did he tell me it was over when this was the start of the journey to self-destruction for me?

I proved myself wrong. My mind didn’t buy a ticket for a viewing of the show that was our so called ‘forever and always moments’, instead it opted for a classic horror. Filled with my nightmares that would remain haunting me to this day, I still played it on a loop, a consistent loop that was intended to make me go loopy. Continuing from disappointing you with keeping the gritty details of a having a first love because a locked door, I can’t remember a lot of it due to the intoxicated state I was in nine times out of ten of being with him. Now I didn’t have a problem.

Hang on…

if I rephase that to I didn’t have a problem with drinking it sounds more like the truth. And that was the truth. If you think by now I’m going to give you bullshit to try and make things sound like they were not that bad at all and I’m just over dramatizing it then you must of read over the part about dancing with the devil…or using the word ‘Hell’ to describe it all. I mean I don’t know how many more references I can make to the fiery black pit filled with your worst fears those so-called individuals, who believe in god say you end up in after sinning your life away. But if we don’t sin then God died for nothing right? Sorry if me chucking to myself just interrupted your trail of thoughts. You can hear it, now can’t you? Me sniggering to myself.

Listen to it. Listen closely to the silence that surrounds you.

Its ever so faint but you can hear it. My laughter.

You’re not letting yourself hear it because how could you.

Why would you start hearing it from only reading these words off a page…?

How would you? Unless I convince and hypnotise you enough to MAKE you think you are hearing it.

Why would I be laughing after all this….

Are you still listening?

If someone asked me to write a book on my relationship I would of thought that I could do it easily in one sitting from beginning, middle and end. Unfortunately, due to time passing and my mental health deteriorating it’s reading more like Beginning, talk about an argument, blame myself, reflect on this , have something to eat , middle , jump off topic, discuss a dispute, remember to get some sleep and THEN the end. If your brain cannot handle being distracted, losing your place in a book or knowing what on earth is going on and are we still talking about the same person. Then you might of chose the wrong this to start reading. But congratulations. You are experience only a snippet of what it’s like to live in my mind. I am sorry. You are only experiencing the feeling of pain from about an inch deep of this knife.

There is still about 8 inches left to travel through you. And if by chance you have been stabbed before in real life, then I am truly embarrassed for using it as such a shit analogy. Of course, it is not the same, just how you can’t describe what water tastes like, but you know the difference between tap and bottled. I do not know the difference between feeling love and becoming lost anymore.

Let’s continue with this weird direction of talking about water…and yes you can close the book now and try and re sell it if you are desperate. I can give you your money back…just not the time.

I remember sitting in our one bedroom.

Not a one-bedroom house, or flat. It was just a bedroom. I wasn’t surprised by the stained mattress that blocked the living room window on the outside, it was a better view to look out to, then try and look at reality. Cringy I know. So, let’s set the scene… one window, double glazed didn’t exist, the glass was as thin as my patience. The handle was broken off and even if you pushed hard enough there was no give. This should have been the most obvious sign of being trapped. Literally being trapped. There was enough floor space for two hefty rugby blocks to lay shoulder to shoulder…but that didn’t apply because he played football...

And I found myself sleeping alone…

Sleeping is a bit of a lie…

More like letting the works of insomnia take over…

I recall one night; my heavy eyelids kissed the waterline. The bloodshot veins that showed a tally of how many minutes I lost of sleep suddenly became a candyfloss colour. My skull sunk just a centimetre deeper into the pillow. My shoulders unclenched and beneath the silence in the room you could hear the clicks and creeks of my bones unravelling. I was finally taking a rest. Now this may have been lucid dreaming. Trickling rain fell on to the window and echoed in my ear drums. They say the sound of rain is relaxing. This didn’t wake me, but I was still aware it was raining in my slumber. We generated some of our best memories whilst it was pouring down. Was this God crying tears of happiness for us? Or was each drop a spit in the face that I would later endure.

I had an epiphany not long ago that maybe it isn’t the smell of rain I like. You know the scent? It’s fresh and pure like an open field that you can never see the other side too. and even though you wore that jacket you knew wouldn’t survive a torrential downpour you can still bring yourself to produce a smirk and feel a drip of contentment towards life.

On that night. That bleak rotten night. I watched you walk, well practically run away from me. From my begging, my desperate fragile hands trying to keep you from letting go. You probably couldn’t see my tears because of the rain.

The fucking rain.

It wasn’t shock I felt but I must have been suffering from some state of it, due to the fact I let you leave. The crisp white your shirt beamed slowly became dim as you passed the crowded trees. They all witnessed this. Their roots started to swell and wrap around your legs to stop you. Their tangled branches with dying leaves on hit you in the face the same amount of times you hit me.

You tried to grab what you needed from the room and make a sharp exit. But little did you know you dropped a few things in your desperate get away from the psychotic being that claimed to love you. I tripped over them…

Your promises…

Your trust…

Your love…

And out ‘forever and always’ is what you abandoned last on the pavement. What sent me flying when you had already clipped my wings.

So, I sat there in the rain. And realised I didn’t like the smell anymore. Not because you left. I just realised it was wet concreate. Soaked in agony.

****************

Once again, I’ve been robbed of my sleep. My precious fucking sleep that my therapist can’t tell me enough how important it is for my psyche. If only he could let himself see me for me, not have these bullshit boundaries of being unable to judge your client or speak your opinion. I know every time I email him practically begging for an appointment, he knows I’m just panicking. But am I. What happens when let’s face it not ‘if’, just cut the shit now and say the whole “we are all going to die anyway blah blah” but what really happens when I do? (asking for a friend).

In the past 2 years I have counted 27. Now that’s just on my calendar and I’ve only had the phone for 2 years.

There are still emails.

There are still texts.

And 3 more years of my life I have spent going to therapy.

Because of him.

£1350 and counting you owe me.

But Id much rather just have you back, and not him.