Wednesday, 14 January 2009 - 12:24 pm

Something has to give

I’m not proud of what I did yesterday.  I’m angry with myself for going off and, if I’m honest, a bit scared.  I had lost it again, let my temper slip out of my mouth and spill venom on someone.  I hadn’t meant to, I hadn’t really been in control, and that scares me more than anything else.

There’s a knife tucked under the hem of my shirt, within easy reach.  Maybe I should take it off.  Maybe I should put it in my pack, or give it to Thorpe or Dillon.  I don’t know if I trust myself with it any more.  What if I get so angry that I pull it out and use it?  What if I lose it so much that I do that to someone?  How will I live with myself then?

I never used to be like this.  At work, I sucked up unfairness and abuse every day, drew it in and breathed it out calmly.  I never snapped, I never let my thoughts outside of my skull.  When I found out about Cody and Bree, when they ripped my heart out, I didn’t vent my pain all over them.  Even when she spread lies about me, ruined almost every friendship I’d built in the last three years through a campaign of hate, I didn’t tell her what I thought of her.  I didn’t even complain, not to her, not to any of those who turned against me.  I didn’t take any of that out on anyone.

Now I’ve done it twice.  Now my group are looking at me sideways again and I don’t know what to tell them.

I don’t think I’m handling this as well as I’d like.  I don’t think I’m handling this well at all.  I can’t sit still, I can’t stop for more than a little while at a time.  I’m so tired, right down to the bone, but I can barely sleep.  I’m a body full of restless limbs, twitching with their own agenda.

I think I’m trying not to fall apart.  I’ve seen it happen, in the CBD after the city came down.  I’ve seen the broken eyes and empty movements.  I’ve seen people whose purpose has died.  I don’t want to become that.  I have to find a way to keep myself going, and that means keeping everyone else going.  It means that I have to keep moving.  Always pushing forward, even into the teeth of the storm.

I can’t keep going like this.  Something has to give, and I think it might be me.