The Walls Have Eyes (Diary)

This is a very, very bad idea


6. May 10th, 2015


I can't think of anything. Everything just blurs in and out of my mind, nothing settles, nothing stays. I've felt so f*cking miserable all day. I cry periodically, without their being any actual trigger.

What is this?

What is this?

What is this?

I woke up at 6:30 with aches and pains, along my entire left side especially. I found bruises on my body and I don't know how or when they got there - and I don't bruise easily. What's happening to me? Am I hurting myself without realising it? Am I possessed? I mean, okay, they aren't big bruises - but still.


I tried so f*cking hard to get that f*cking door open...


I did my best.

And it wasn't good enough.


It's easy for them to stand around, laugh it off and forget about it - they don't f*cking know, they weren't there. They didn't climb out of windows, try to break a door down or anything.

They left me to deal with it.

Has the world gone mad or is it just me?

Who in their right mind uses suicide to prove a point? Suicide isn't a playing card, it's game-over. Doesn't anyone get that?


Have I got it wrong?

Am I looking at it wrong?


I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do... I've been trying to keep myself occupied all day: with chores, with the kids, I've tried to keep my mind dulled with music - but nothing, f*cking nothing, works. It's all I can f*cking think about, and I can't even go and see her. She's gonna die. The bleach has burnt through her stomach and she's having cardiac arrests periodically. She's gonna die.


Because I didn't just call the ambulance first.

It should have been the first f*cking thing I should have done...


I'm trying to keep distracted, but I've run out of distractions. I want to leave this... f*cking... bird-cage - but how? How can I leave them? They're f*cking arseholes, every single f*cking one of them - but they're still my family. I mean, Pipsqueak has a temperature today - nobody but me will give a shit about it in the right way...


I'm sick of pretending. Being strong for the kids when my insides are all broken. I can't hide how insufferably lonely and weak and disturbed I am any more.





I opened a page to write, but now I think... And I just haven't got anything. I'm blank. Or maybe I had something to write and I forgot about it?




Well, anyway, had an Irn-Bru in the morning, a Cherry Coke at night. That's... all I've had to eat/drink. I'm not well. I need to see a professional of some kind, but I know no-one will take me seriously. I told you, my entire family is all about superficial image - they'd rather I cry every day out of sight, rather than be publically recognised for taking anti-depressants. They'll feed me some bullsh*t lines about how I'm fine, I'm a woman, I'm probably close to my period, I'll get over it, I can manage it...


(Yeah, you can probably tell this isn't a conversation I haven't already had.)




A social-worker's coming around tomorrow because of recent events. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

One thing is clear though: it's do or die time.


Time to call or fold.

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