Rolling Down The Blinds

So I was right about it, I will wake up feeling that I am better off dead instead. There were those recurring dreams, and I must have woken up at least five times during the night, getting more sober each time and the ache creeping up a little more every time. So it was no wonder that I was feeling the dull ache in my heart in all its force now. It is just too hard having to face the day ahead.

So here I am now in my office now, everything seems like such an effort. Dressing up for work, walking to the tram stop, ordering my coffee and even reciprocating those morning wishes from my co-workers. How am I going to give a proper presentation later?

I just want this day to end, I can't wait to get home and hole myself up. I have decided not to go out tonight, I would rather be drinking alone. I can't even handle talking to my housemates I don't think. If they know, they will try to cheer me up for sure, which will only make me feel worse.

The bottomline is, I just want to be alone, for once.

I am feeling the strain in my stomach now after the coffee, and coming to think of it, I haven't had any solid food for the past twenty hours or so. I don't think I want to eat anything, I will probably throw up anway. I will probably have a ciggie instead. How many ciggies have I had these past three months and how many more before I can forget everything? It's silly and I shouldn't do it but whatever keeps me going now.

Today is the first time I have stopped reading my horoscope. It all seems so meaningless now.
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I survived my talk, I don't know how I did it but I did anyway. The words came out of my mouth just as I have intended and they all made perfect sense somehow, even though I was feeling queasy all the while and thought I would not last for another minute in there. That was an amazing show I put up, I surprised myself even. People came up to compliment me and even my boss did too. I hardly felt any gladness at all but still had to appear so. That was one helluva act too. I forced a slice of tart down to prevent my hand from trembling, no shit. I was just about headed for the toilet to have a good barf when I decided to hold it down and had another ciggie instead. That miraculously helped too.

This is so typical of my stupid body to response but I still don't know what the fuck is happening in there.
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It is getting really stifling in here. I am vegetating here but I am hardly feeling at ease. Just had another coffee and a few more sticks. No food, I can't even bear to look at them. Randy was there, and he could tell from my tone of voice right away that I am as dead as I could be. I almost broke down in front of him, but my tear ducts were not obeying me again, thankfully. I will take a long walk home.

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And 22 hours later, I finally managed to fucken bawl my hearts out. I got home, went straight to my room, sat on the bed, buried my face in my hands, and starting sobbing like a baby. I am finally crumpling to all that had happened these past few weeks, with my life and with my life as part of the family. It's just all too much to handle. And so, on this very night, I finally cried for myself, and not for characters in a movie or a book.

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I took up the offer of having a drink at a friend's place, which inevitably led to the very topic I was hoping not to touch on. There was the physical contact, but it's just wasn't the same. I hardly felt a thing, I felt uneasy even. I tried to translate the feeling, imagining another person was there instead. It didn't work at all, of course. If anything, I was more sober than I have been at any point of this crazy day. I am just damn glad it's late now and that I don't have to put up a show for anyone anymore.