Point ridiculous. When you are in the kitchen and a housemate comes home from work and asks you how your day was you can say Fine thank you and carry on chopping the giant mushroom or you can throw yourself on the floor and try to stop your heart beating and hope that the ambulance arrives too late. I chose the mushroom. This is what I do. I always choose the mushroom and I'm sick of it. I want a go of the crazy.
I want to wake up on the floor all the way through a bottle of vodka and know that nothing else matters because I can drink another one today. I want to run out of the house screaming and leave everyone to pick my pieces while I sit sheltered and responsibilities bounce off my shell. I want to lie under the doona and not come out, no matter what. I want to waste away my brain cells one at a time until the government pays for someone to come to my house every day and feed and bathe me. I want to smash the computers in my office and set fire to the place, I want to walk out of there in tall boots with broken glass crunching under my heels.
But I am the one who carries on. I am the one with the silent screams and the calm busy hands. This is boring, even for me. I'm sick of being only shadow.
