11:42

insight eightyseven

(I’m going to talk to you about something that happened to me, nothing dramatic or news worthy, but something that happened that has stuck in my mind every single day.)

Valentine’s Day – 14th Feb. 2019

Eyeshadow. Mascara. Lip gloss. Powder. I put on my make up, and stare into the dirty mirror, observing the faded imperfections covered by layers of concealer, trying to fill in the cracks of the broken self. Deep breathes of encouragement and a flicker of a smile, I start to change into the dress I meticulously chose from hours of searching for the perfect outfit to impress my boyfriend. Finishing up with my simple jewellery, I twist my hair through my fingers and think of all the multitudes of things I could do to style it. I decide to try to curl, just light waves that could drop onto my shoulders in an attempt to look pretty. I start off okay, one curl this way, one curl that way, a few tugs but it looks alright. Time flies and it gets worse and worse, burns and angular waves look awful beside my burgundy sleeves. I stare into the mirror and glance at the tears slowly running down my face, more and more until black mascara rivers pool around my eyes, making me look like a drunken mess. Realising the time, I pull my hair flat with half-hot straighteners and patch up my make up as if I’m sewing a broken toy back together. I rush to grab my heels and jacket and run down the stairs, checking my horrid appearance in the mirror before seeing him there, at the door. And all that races through my mind is...
You’re not pretty
You’re not good enough
Don’t go out
If he knew what happened
You’re horrible, look at you
You should be ashamed of yourself
Fat. No excuses.
The ugly sister.
He deserves better
Why cant he see how bad you look?
He is amazing, look at him, but you, why does he choose you
Don’t go out! You’ll disgust anyone you see
Embarrassing
These thoughts spiral down and down until the smile I hold gets to the widest it can be, choking on tears and discomfort I get going to the meal, a night with a boy who deserves anyone but me.

*insert here a description of the best night in a while – a great meal with amazing company* - I’m sure in the future I’ll write a loving account of the evening, I’m just not in the right frame of mind right now. Sorry. :(

His mum drops me home, I thank them both and trail quickly down to my home, excited to show my family my dress, feeling much better than before. I stop inside the porch, slipping off my heels and opening the door to the warm living room, where my parents sit hand in hand, watching a movie with smile on their faces. I say hello and entice them into a conversation, no comment on how I tried to look, no ask of how my night was, no conversation just a mummer and a shout about something I have done wrong, or forgotten to do. Nothing happy, just the usual house hold chats. I shake my head and laugh, ‘watch that attitude’ and the normal moaning about how I’m not good enough, even though I’m trying my goddam hardest for everyone to be everything they want me to be.
But what about what I want me to be? Oh right, cant do that just yet.

I drag myself upstairs, taking of my dress and wiping my make up off a million times quicker than when I put it on. I strip myself of everything that made me feel ugly, only to stare at a purer version of that – a horrid, pale mess of a human, just wasting away in front of me. Round 2 of the shouting arises as my door bangs open and gives a fright. I wearily fight my corner and leave her to mumble into the yellow of downstairs lights. Spinning onto my bed I lay and let out a unexpected scream, one that came from a deep dark place I never knew could hurt or does hurt. I clasp my hand over my mouth and cry into the sleeve of his jumper, muffling the long exhales and struggling breaths. I realise everything all at once, and it all comes crashing down upon my shoulders, forcing my lungs to collapse and send me into a whirlwind of breathless struggles to find some water, some air, someone to came me down. I rock, back and forth back and forth against the bland wall of my bedroom, cold carpet scratching at my naked legs. My mind feels heavy like a bowling ball, and it rolls down a hill into oblivion, all my thoughts and reminders whirling and whirling, trying to hurt me even more…
Look at him, his life. Look at how good he has it.
A mother and son relationship that isn’t yelling and non-understanding “supportive” chats.
A family which runs smoothly and a loving one at that.
Everything there and in bold print, everything done for him and no responsibilities at all.
Look how good it is.
Now look at your life.
Look at it.
Hurt goddamnit it. Hurt.
Remember him, him and him
Remember the hurt they put you through.
Remember what he did
Remember what he did
Remember what he did, over and over.
Think of her
Remember her smile, laugh
Sneezes when she chewed gum
Remember her hand
Her kiss
Remember that feeling, that realisation of what it was
But it’s a phase right, so your mum thinks
Remember that, every second of it
And then that day
Fucking remember your heart being torn out and crushed
Remember your soul being lost that day
Remember you, yourself being lost that day
Tearing all of your happiness with it
Remember everything after it
Hurt, I beg you hurt yourself to make it go away
You. Go. Away.

I scream into my arms and I feel everything spin. Losing my breath, I fight with short inhales to keep my vision straight, hands shaking like wind-lifted leaves. Blurry bed posts away from side to side before a blanket of darkness descends over my eyes, my head hitting the floor like a book falling off a shelf.

…

I wake with a text from my brother, asking if I’m okay, a single tear rolls down my face as I reply with a lie to a person who cares so unexpectedly about how I am. Neck aching and skin dried with sweet tears, I climb into bed and listen to audio of the rain to help me sleep, a grey rest that I knew wont leave me any less tired in the morning.