Base sur une histoire vraie

serendipityxavier — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 09:18:26 +0000

Disclaimer: Originally written 24th January 2006 but edited to fit in the current storyline.

The room is dark, darker than it should be for the middle of the day. She had made sure that no light came in by hanging her winter blankets over each of the windows and had closed the blinds as tight as they could be closed. The candle she lit this morning had burnt almost all the way to the wick. She thought about searching for another one but what was the point? It was not worth getting up when she still had enough light to write by.

Her head was spinning. There were at least a dozen reason why. It could have been the lack of sleep. The last time she had slept for longer than an hour at a time was the day he was taken from her. She felt her body was shutting down. She had no energy and her body had learned to cope with that. After all how much energy does it take to sit in front of the computer?

It could have been that she had not eaten anything but a piece of fruit since Friday. She glanced down at the bandanged on her hand from where the knife had slipped the other day. When she thought about it she had almost wished the cut had been a little deeper. It did not seem right that it only required a single stitch when the emotional scars were a lot deeper.

She moved her feet knocking over a half empty bottle of Jack. She cursed as the bottle broke causing the contents to spill all over the floor. The saying goes “don’t cry over spilled milk” but for her it was more a case of “don’t cry over spilled bourbon” so she resisted the urge and dragged herself up to find a mop.

As she walked through the lounge she counted twelve empty bottles of red wine. Each bottle represented a thousand tears cried as she drunk it. When she had run out of red she had started on the bottle of vodka that she had brought back from overseas. When it was finished she had started on the bourbon, the rest of which she had to mop off the floor.

When the bourbon was moped up she sat back on her chair. She closed her eyes and listened to the same songs that had been playing over and over on her i-pod. It was back to track one … their song “Beautiful Soul” by Jesse McCartney. She fought the urge to cry but as the lyrics “I want you and your beautiful soul” rang in her head she suppressed a sob.

She reached for yet another kleenex and realized that the box was empty. It was the third box of 500 kleenex that she’d used since the night he left. It made her cry more which seemed pointless seeing as there were no kleenex left to dry the tears.

She could almost hear her two best friends other than him if they saw her. They had been each telling her for weeks that she needed to be strong. She had been trying to fool then into thinking she was stronger than she was and in the process had come close to killing herself.

It was not their fault. They cared for her a great deal and they did not want to see her beating herself up over something she had no control over. They did not want to see her lost again. They had seen her lost before. She wondered if they realized how lost she was this time.

She must have dozed off because she was awoken by her cell phone. She looked at the display and saw it was her ex again. It was the thirty eighth time he had rung in two days. She picked up the phone and threw it against the wall as hard as she could. She did not want to hear from any one else. She just wanted to hear his voice.

The song on the playlist was a new one. A friend had been listening to it and had been talking about it the previous night. She’d downloaded it and many other tracks by the same artist the night before.

The first time she had listened to it the night before she had started to sob. This time was no exception. She sang:

“I just poured my heart out

There’s bits of it on the floor

And I take what’s left of it and rinse it under cold water

And call him up for more

And I say baby, yes I feel stupid to call you, but I’m lonely

And I don’t think you meant it when you said you couldn’t love me

And I thought maybe if I kissed you the way you do, you’d feel it too.”

The song finished and she stood up. On the couch beside her was a scrap book with notes he’d left her and photos from their life together. The pages were tear stained but it didn’t matter. She listened to the music and ran her fingers over his face in the pictures. She missed him and she was dying because of it.

She wanted someone to understand. She had watched someone she disliked get more attention from her best friend because he did not see the person as strong. She hated herself that she had not asked for him to listen in the past.

Now that she needed him to listen she was too scared to ask him to. She did not want advice. She just wanted him to listen.

She struggled to see the point. She wanted to sleep but she knew that if she did the nightmares would be there and it was hard enough facing the fears when she was awake, when she could drink them away. She could not make them stop but she knew she could numb the pain.

She looked at the clock and realized that the day was over and again she had gotten nothing done. She couldn’t comprehend why she had not heard from him. She had believed him when he said their love was forever. She had trusted him. She had trusted in their love and she still did. She just doubted that he did too.

In the beginning – By way of Introduction

serendipityxavier — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 10:50:59 +0000

Sometimes I want to kill myself. I wonder what there is to live for now that I’ve lost the last bit of reason to hold on. With Stix-Lee not living with me anymore I can’t decide why I need to get up in the morning.

Today I went to see the GP to get something to numb the pain. He’s given me a referral to talk to some shrink about what I’m feeling. I threw that away and decided that I should just do what I used to do when I was young … before my world ended.

I’m not sure what happened to the journal I used to write in when Chance was still around. I know I took it with me when I was at school but I have no idea what happened to any of that stuff. It’s probably still at Nicolas’. But knowing that bastard he’s probably thrown it all away so it’s long gone … in a dump somewhere … being eaten by rats.

I’m tired.

Ren

Reflections on a nightmare

Base sur une histoire vraie

In the beginning – By way of Introduction