Thursday. It always starts on a Thursday. I thought I was in the clear this week. I was wrong. I made a crucial error and now I feel her clawing at me.
I’m writing to keep a record. How long will it take before she consumes me completely? How will she affect my thoughts this time? How will my writing change? Will I be brave enough to admit to everything? Or will I hide like I usually do? Shut myself away from the world until she decides she’s had enough of me.
Like an alien she takes root in my stomach. It’s a feeling of dread that starts to well up. I need to eat but I want to throw up instead.
My heart is next. I am amazed at how hard it can beat. I wonder how many more years of this abuse it will take. She’s killing me slowly. She doesn’t care.
I’m at my job. I want, no, need to get out. Get to my safe place. My home or the woods. Somewhere there are no people. Somewhere wide open. But I am stuck here.
I focus on my breathing. I try to keep busy.
It’s not working.