I'm up late at night. Can't sleep. Keep feeling my scar. Bumpy and rough. Thinking. How long can I feel ok. When does it all start falling apart. How bad will it be.
Why am I thinking such negative thoughts. Why does night take over my brain. Dreams of running. Waiting. Escaping.
I'm hot. I can't breathe. I'm having a minor anxiety attack.
What is the point of all this. What am I holding on to. What is holding me together.
I think of some guy I never met. A guy I didn't want to meet. But was willing to pretend to have an open mind. I would have given him a chance. My gut told me no. But I was open. I was open. And then he tore me down. One notch at a time. He objectified me. The world lets him get away with tearing women apart. Knocking them down. Making them worthless and meaningless. And no one will put a stop to it.
I think of the little girl who lost her mother. Whose only sister married and moved away. Abandoned. Whose father sits there socially awkward. A little girl who can't even make eye contact. She's all alone. And I look at my mother and still feel no guilt for my feelings. No shame. If she were gone, my life would be much easier. I know I'm a rotten person. But I don't care.
I think of the couples who sit around in a cafe. One shidduch date on high stools. Awkward conversation. The girl is dying for it to end. He notices no cues. Talking and talking. A married couple getting cozy on the couch. Puke. He used to like me and I didn't give him the time of day. What does she see in him. How is he married and I'm not. The other shidduch date in the back of the room. She's gorgeous he's handsome. Playing board games and laughing. An older married couple sits down next to us. Their time away from a busy house. Private time away from the kids. And me. Me and my parents.
I can't sleep. So I rub my scar. Fantom pain. It can't really be hurting. It's all in my head. Everything is all in my head.