3

People think they know me- I’ve spent a lifetime actively and deliberately letting people believe that. I know I have come across as insensitive and shallow sometimes. I often wonder if anyone would really appreciate just how hard that is to pull off consistently? But in reality- well the so called reality is often the comforting lies we’d all much rather stick to. But in the spirit of a game of ‘Truth or Dare,’ here’s my truth about today:

 

Today I stood at the sink washing up a few cups and dirty plates while my flat mate was working quietly in his room. I’d just returned from an early end to a boring and to be honest frustrating shift at work and an equally frustrating and fruitless shopping trip to the local mall on the way home. It was snowing- what bullshit. I hate the cold and the snow. I went to shop specifically for ….. Something? But couldn’t remember what exactly. That annoys me so much when that happens. I wandered around for 2 hours picking up this and that, what ever I’d decided to buy. But then promptly returned everything to its original place or rail, in every shop I went into, before getting to the checkout.

‘I can’t afford it. I don’t need it? I want it. No I don’t. I’d look great in that. Who cares what I look like? That’s not what I came out for! That’s not it?  I still can’t afford it’.

Anyway, after eventually buying some mouthwash and hair products and paying £5 in parking charges for the privilege- thieving bastards, I was at the kitchen sink.  I scraped the plates and ran the hot water, incessantly scrubbing the stains away from one particular porcelain mug (I like to drink my tea and coffee from a porcelain mug, it tastes so much better don’t you think? I will almost always leave a drink served in an earthenware mug- even if I’ve made it myself), before I noticed I was crying.

I wasn’t just crying. I was sobbing silently. Hard. The scalding tears were literally flowing like a split garden hose laying in the hot summer sun. Streaming down my face, and softly dripping into the washing up bowl. Soon I realised that I couldn’t even see what I was doing anymore. My eyes burnt like I’d got soap accidently washed into them while in the shower. I had to abandon what I was doing. I was leaning on the side of the sink, with my chin defeatedly resting on my chest, and reluctantly, so reluctantly gave in to it.  My shoulders were heaving uncontrollably. But through all this, I was conscious of the silence that filled the flat. I couldn’t, no wouldn’t let anyone hear that I’d completely and utterly lost it.

The mucus was running down my face and had mingled messily with the tears dripping into the dirty dishwater. I shook and snatched short breathes, to steady myself, but just couldn’t stop the cascade.

‘Keep it quiet, Keep it quiet,’ is all I could say to myself. Over and over again.

I eventually rubbed my eyes, attempted to swipe the sticky snot away that just stuck and spread on the back of my hand and glanced at the stainless steel clock with oversize numerals hanging above the sink. Twenty minutes had gone by in a flash. Why was this happening? What had happened that was so bad? I was genuinely shocked. But all I can say was that it dawned on me then, I was simply consumed with an irrepressible and drowning feeling of grief. It was like I was giving up on someone so special or something so important that couldn’t, no mustn’t be lost. Then I realised…… I was grieving for myself.

I’ve always tried to avoid feeling too sorry for myself- it’s never helped and clouds the vision I have of myself and stops me from finding the ‘solution’ I’ve certainly and always been able to find- whatever that might be. Despite all that, the tears started again and if at all possible, came all the harder.