We’re meeting in court tomorrow: me and my dad. I’ve had my head in the sand about this date for weeks. I don’t know how to get through it. Because if I have to hear the words ‘not guilty’, that’s like not being believed, like it not being true, like it all being my fault. All over again. And I really can’t cope with that.
That’s the main reason why I was so desperate to get back to work. Sitting around the house thinking isn’t doing me any good at all, but this morning I hurt too much. I couldn’t even pretend to function. I meant to keep busy, to Do Things, but I’ve been at home so much lately that I’ve run out of list. Nothing I should be doing, and no idea what I wanted to do. I kept on lapsing into catatonic in a corner. I lost about three hours at one point in the day, off inside my head. All I really want to do is get out and walk, and keep on walking, until I’m not thinking about anything any longer. But moving hurts, and hurting reminds me, and I can’t cope with remembering. Not like that, not when I’m by myself, not without any (healthy*) way to cope.
*I threw the painkillers away, just in case. I watched my dad abuse opiates for years, and it does not make you a fun person to be around. Personally, I can’t see the attraction (I’d rather drink gin…**), but I still wasn’t risking it. This made complete sense in my head, but does not deal with the physical pain.
**Now I sound like an alcoholic. Not actually very tempted by that route either.
I have been trying to write coherently without referring to the elephant in the room. At times like this, all I actually want to do is hurt myself. To cut, until it stops hurting, until the mess in my head clears, until I know I can keep that mask in place tomorrow; because physical scars fade faster than mental ones. I haven’t done it, and I won’t do it, because I am older and slightly wiser these days, but the impulse does not go away. That is all.