The
bus stops. I fall. On top of people I don't know. Not only that but I look
ugly today, too, wearing odd-fitting pants and
odd-fitting hair. I want to
cry. The little voice in my head laughs at me and tells me to
DEAL WITH IT.
The rain won't let up and I am cold. I am biking and the wind is pushing me back into my own space, but somehow I refuse to stop, because the little voice hitting me with the wind says DEAL WITH IT, because i have this odd notion that it will make me a better person if i keep going.
I look forward to her voice all day, and then i see her, and she bitches about curtains. I love her but we'll never get along. No one can hurt me like my mother, but i keep trying, throwing myself into the fray, all the while knowing it will end with screaming. I sit in my room and call myself a wimp; i didn't try hard enough. The little voice tells me to clench my teeth and smile at her even if I secretly want to throw pots at her.
I walk home from work and i feel nothing. This is the worst. I can't deal with this. I can't. There's nothing to struggle against, to close my eyes and brace myself for because everything is empty. My little voice is silent. These days are not something I can deal with, push away. They come back to me like a nightmare sometimes, and I think they will never end, but they always do, somehow.