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It’s early evening, not bedtime, but I don’t have the energy to protest. “Look at this place.” Taking his hand and pulling myself to my feet, I shake my head, utterly ashamed of myself and the mess I’ve created.
“We’ll worry about that in the morning.”
Lifting one side of my mouth into a half-smile that’s flooded with regret, I follow him to the bedroom. As I settle down on the mattress, pressing my back against Theodore’s chest as he holds me, I pray to whoever might be listening that Theodore’s right, that after a sleep I’ll know what I need to do.
**********
I’ve been tidying up the kitchen for over an hour, picking things up, sweeping broken glass, and trying not to wake Theodore in the process. My muscles ache with the movement, so I’ve given up and decided to make coffee instead. It’s only four AM but despite being exhausted, I haven’t been able to fall asleep. For a few hours I lay, content, in Theodore’s arms, finally getting up when I realised Theodore was holding me and I felt…nothing.
If anything I felt a little restricted, and definitely too hot. Since meeting him I’ve always found solace in his touch, but in that moment I couldn’t feel him anymore. I can’t feel anything. Comfort, love, even anger and sadness…it’s all gone.
I’m numb.
Has my mind given up? Have I reached the destination I always knew I was travelling towards? Is this numbness my soul’s way of preparing myself for the inevitable?
You need to end this.
You need to fight this.
I shake my head in a lame attempt to unscramble my opposing thoughts as I reach for the freshly boiled kettle. I hover it over the mug, ready to pour, but those damn voices in my subconscious won’t stop interrupting my thought process.
A shock of pain will do it. Jumpstart your emotions. Un-paralyse you.
The back of my hand is over the mug and under the stream of boiling water before I’ve even made the decision to do it. Pain sears through my flesh and I force out a controlled hiss through gritted teeth, fighting the powerful impulse to pull away.
The bedroom door creaks and my instinct to lie, conjure an excuse, kicks in immediately. Purposely dropping the kettle, I cry out as I jump back, gripping my wrist as I dash to the sink.
“Oh my God, what happened?” Theodore fusses, scurrying towards me.
Switching the cold tap to full force, I stick my hand underneath the spray. “Dropped the kettle. No big deal.” It doesn’t surprise me that I’m able to lie so readily, but it does disgust me.
“Jesus,” he mutters, wincing as he takes hold of my wrist, bending to get a closer look. “We should get you to A&E.”
“It’s fine.” I dismiss him with a shake of my head.
“It’s blistering already,” he notes. “I’ll drive. I just need to get dressed.”
“I’m not going to fucking hospital.” It was my intention to snap, to raise my voice, yet I remain frustratingly calm.
It didn’t work. The physical pain is there, my hand feels like it’s on fire, the skin leathered and beaming red…but I’m not that bothered about it. I’m not bothered about anything. I’m not even bothered that Theodore’s hand is rubbing my shoulder. Angling my head, I stare at his fingers. I love him, I know I do, but I can’t feel it.
Dammit!
“Fine,” he relents. “At least go to the chemist on the way to work. They might have a cream or something you can put on it.”
“Actually,” I begin, shutting the water off. “I think I’ll stay home today. I can work from here.”
Theodore smiles, albeit weakly, and I’m grateful he’s looking at my face so he can’t see that my hand has started shaking. “And you’ll make that doctors appointment?”
“Yes.” Turns out it is a lie I’ll be carrying through. “I’m going back to bed for a while first. I didn’t sleep too well.”
“Good idea. I won’t get back to sleep now, so I’m going to get a bath and get ready for work.”
I smile because he does and, as old-fashioned as it sounds, he looks so damn handsome, even with bed-hair and scruff on his face. “I really do love you, Theodore,” I say, pulling him in at the waist. “Don’t ever forget that.” Bypassing my lips, he kisses my neck and I fold my arms around him, hugging him close. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t ever apologise for struggling.”
I’m not apologising for last night, but for all the nights to come.
I’ve made my decision, right down to how I’m going to do it. I know what will work best for me and I won’t fail this time. It’s time to stop pretending, stop giving the people around me false hope that I will get better.
Because I won’t.
I’m too far gone.
I’m too tired.
Pulling back, a look of confusion twists his expression. His lips part, a small sound – maybe the beginning of a question – escaping, but then he closes them again. “Go sleep. Call me if you need anything.” He cups my face. “Anything. Okay?”
“Okay,” I agree with the fake conviction I’ve become a master at.
We exit the kitchen side-by-side, exchanging one last glance before he veers into the bathroom. When I climb into bed I close my eyes and picture that final glance again. I say goodbye to it, to his smile…
And hope that he’ll forgive me.
**********
Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional. I heard that somewhere once and it stuck in my mind, haunting me, ever since. I often toyed with its interpretation and, now, I have the answer.
The pain is there. It never leaves. Sometimes it’s bearable, but it’s always there. It’s pecked away at my soul all my life and, finally, it’s won.
I surrender.
It’s taken everything. I am nothing more than a hollow shell. There are no more pieces left to try and put back together. I have nothing else to fight with.
I’m exhausted.
Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.
Today, I opt to end the suffering. Today, I welcome the pain as it slices into my wrist, knowing it will be the last time. As I watch my tormented life seep from my body in thick, red spirals, a small smile crawls onto my lips.
