Yesterday, my mother told me, as I was standing in my pajamas, the excitement from Christmas creeping up on us as demons in a horror movie, still in my body, that she could no longer be friends with my father.
I tell her that I already know this. That of course she can't - I mean, I can't even forgive him for screwing this up, so why would she ever be able to forgive someone who hurt her little girl? And I tell her that I am completely okay with that. That I understand, and that I support her.
But inside, I can hear my heart beat a little slower, a little less passionate, and I can feel the lump in my throat form. I can feel the fatigue spreading throughout my body, and if that's because of the news my mother just told me, or if it's because I have a flu coming, I do not know, but I do know that as soon as I sit down, it is the first time in many moons, that I do not want to stand up again.
I feel like the energy and the excitement was sucked out of me, and throughout the entire day, I have raw, pop-punk voices calming my panic attacks, and I pour down cup after cup of black tea with milk, because that is the only thing that keeps me calm and reasonable enough to not scream.
For the first time in so many moons, I do not want to do anything but to just sit there and drown the voices of my family in the music streaming out through my headphones.
For the first time in a week, I have to focus on my breathing to avoid a panic attack. For the first time in a week, I think about how my body and mind are not working together, as my brain keeps telling my body that it is not able to breathe, even though my lungs are constantly trying to inflate and deflate, just to prove that of course it is.