One Last Deep Breath Before The Storm
Previous - this entry written on June 12, 2006 at 11:16 am - Next


Guilt.

Pain.

Frustration.

Shame.

Ache.

Emptiness.

Sorrow.

Misery.

Self-doubt.

Self-loathing.

Sadism.

Masochism.

Pathetic.

Useless.

Worthless.

Meaningless.

Nothing.

...nothing at all.

And the worst part is that it is all my fault. All of it. There's no one else to be blamed, no one else responsible for it, no one else whose fault it is but me. And I KNOW it.

Yeah, this reads like an emo brat's whinings, or a goth chick's moanings, or just someone feeling shitty.

Don't care. Can't care, not about that, not when I don't know if we- excuse me. Not when I don't know if Caleb can afford to pay for my antibiotics. Gods know I can't, and I'm pretty sure he can't either. There's a painkiller scrip too; he didn't even take that one with him. Why would he? We both know there's no way to get it. All I want to do right now is dig a hole and bury myself... but I can't. If nothing else, I know he would be more miserable if I wasn't here, and I can't bear the thought of making this day any worse than it already is for him.

I'm going to call my parents in an hour. My mother should be home by then.

I...

...fuckit. I have no pride. I left that behind a long, long time ago. I have delusions of adequacy, I believe is the phrase. Nothing else, today. NOTHING.

I learned that survival wins out over pride, for me. Figured that out way back when I was all of six years old.

I've got masks. I've got illusions. I've got a sense of humor and a fair amount of smugness. I can make it work, I can seem confident and secure and generally pretty in-control. And then suddenly everything's happening at once and the world is crumbling under my feet and it's all I can do to keep breathing. I have no time for pride.

Survival first.

My boys second.

My pride... not even on the list.

It hurts, to be reminded that I have none, need none. The last twinges of it, they sting, when they're for a moment remembered.

That's all they are, though. Memories.

I'm going to whore myself out to the woman who considers herself my mother, going to jump through whatever fucking hoops she wants me to, gonna smile and beg, gonna let her walk the fuck over me, as long as it means that Caleb stops looking so worried and I stop feeling so useless and the world stops hurting so much.

I've never been perfect.

I've just... survived.

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