Sitting In My Car

The day began okay, earlier than I would have liked. I was smiling into the comfort of my duvet with cereal at one hand, iPhone at the other, enjoying the quiet and calm of an empty house and marvelling at how much housework I had completed the day before freeing up this day nicely.

My moments of solitude can be ruined in a second by a text or a comment on social media and yes this happened, and I’ve been distraught ever since. Before I was enjoying the peace now I feel painfully alone. 

I liken this emotion to a physical pain I experienced quite a few months back. We had just bought the house, my severely neglected homestead needed so much work before we could move in that we were always running back and forth between houses, opening up for builders etc. One particular day I had to to be present for the collection of equipment we had hired for the week but I was having lunch out with friends and naturally anxious of my time constraints. The service was unusually slow, so much that I needed to rush to my car and in doing so my foot tripped and slid down a curb, my knee hit the ground first and tore my jeans, then my hand holding my keys inherited a lovely purple bruise but my face bore the brunt of it. 

I sat for a second crying into my knees wondering if my teeth had fallen out and that I was in too much shock to feel it yet. My face had smacked right off of the same curb and shook my bones as it hit. After a long second I considered going to the hospital, but my fear of doctors was overcome by my need to get to the house to calm down. I drove shaken, which I know I shouldn’t have done, to my house just a few streets away, holding my de-mister pad between my chin and my chest in an attempt to absorb most of the fluid pouring out from me.

The worst part was not the accident itself, I was angry with the people walking by. Anyone who saw. The security would have seen me, shoppers, employees all saw me and I saw them but not one of them came to me. Not one came to see if I was okay or tell me not to get behind the wheel. I was in shock and totally alone.

That is mostly how things are for me now, I suffer invisible to the world. My daily tests consume me and take the life from me until there is nothing but tears to mop up later and I deal with everything alone. My house of match sticks collapses with a tiny fault in one and the world caves in.

So right now I am sitting on a supermarket car park. I’ve been here a long time now. I’m here because we need food. I’m still in the car because I can’t face leaving my protective bubble. This anxious feeling I have, which has been caused by one insignificant text message threatening to disrupt my plans, is preventing me from doing my house-wifely duty of providing our meals for the week. It never makes sense. I sit crying over my iPhone at texts sent from people who will never understand how this feels.

Why can’t I be like them?

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