The Birds.

Monday, 11 November 2013

It would appear that I no longer have a concept of normality or indeed abnormality.  Upon the topic of death fantasies The Shrink assured me that it's absolutely normal to lie in the bath and imagine drowning, to cross the road and imagine just stopping...mid road, to stare at the motorway bridge and imagining jumping.  Apparently everybody does it.  It's an act of challenging mortality and people find it exhilarating, almost daring as it makes them feel alive.  She asked me how I felt when these fantasies struck.  I told the truth.  Peaceful. Excruciatingly so.

The window is raining again, as in onto my window sil.  Again.  No it's not leaking, the paddling pool that is there each morning is apparently normal condensation, so normal that it only appears to happen in one room in the entire house despite every room having the same double glazing.  With it it brings it's friends to breed so that my current role in life is no longer merely chief scooper of cat shit, it's now extended to mould removal.  Who said glamour is dead?

The Husband had a chest infection so I had to do the school run in the morning, on my own. Pissflaps. It was marvellously uneventful, if you discount the fact a man ahead of me kept morphing into Death. Later in the week as we returned from town on the bus, I saw a man at a bus stop eating a sandwich .... that kept visually morphing into a huge block of cheese.

Having eventually succeeded in making him go to the doctors, The Husband that is, not the cheese man, whilst waiting in the chemist for his prescription I predictably begin to browse the hair dyes when I turn around only to see neither The Husband nor The Toddler.  Logic would suggest they'd just gone elsewhere yet when has logic ever courted me?  The panic devoured me whole.  They weren't there.  They were gone. Disappeared.  I was alone.  This wasn't planned and I'd had no warning.  Why had they gone?  The world stopped spinning whilst the inside of my head started to spin  instead as I stumbled towards the door.  I could hear my breathing inside my body, it was deafening.  The anxious birds that reside within the chest  started to flap with razor edged wings, as their feathers began to fill my throat. I could feel their frantic beaks piercing my lungs and heart.  I couldn't close my eyes, they were frozen.  You can't cry when your eyes are frozen.  The tears just fall on the inside and rise without bothering to ask if you can swim or not.

The tiny rational part of me listed the places they would probably be yet the rational voice is so small, so tiny that I couldn't concentrate on it.  All I knew is that they'd gone.

It's ridiculous.  I'm a grown woman and yet I was terrified.  I'd been abandoned.  It had been minutes.  It felt like years.

They were only in the charity shop a few doors away, I found out after calling him.  Yet why did I feel so empty?

Sometimes, I fear the worst is yet to come.  That the descent is a continual journey that masticates my brain.  That things will never get better.

I am folded.  I am folding.  I'm unfolding.

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