“I need this…” I mutter, as I storm about my house, too small, all too small for as many people are in it but too big for me to be alone in. “please, god, just let it be here…” My steps get heavier, faster, my nimble fingers rummaging through every nook, every cranny in the house. “Please, god let there be something…” I give up. There’s nothing. My nerves are alive with stress. My hands are shaking. My feet are pounding. My head is racing. I can’t calm down.
“You’d never find anything, anyway. The house is out, remember? I say aloud.
“Of course, its never any hurt to just look…” I say, fidgeting again.
“you look pathetic” I say, only the truth, Dear, only the truth.
“aren’t you a big ball of daisies today?”
“No. I’m honest, look at you, rummaging through your families things, trying to find something that you know damn well isn’t going to be there for you.”
“I don’t know that, neither do you, now shut up and let me think!”
I begin to pace.
I shouldn’t be speaking to myself, the therapist said not to.
My feet are still pounding the ground in as I walk.
Nothing works, why doesn’t anything ever work out the way I’d planned it too…
My fingers rake through my tangled hair… I glance over at the kitchen knives…
“No way. NO. FUCKING. WAY, man. I am not going down that road again” I say aloud.
I continue to stride around the house, my jeans floating around my all too thin ankles, smacking the skin, and placing a “fwoo” noise as they swing.
Oh, the glorious life– or lack thereof, of an inanimate object…
I can’t stop pacing.
I look over at the ash trays, no butts big enough to light.
Not wisely, at the very least.
I can’t stop shaking.
I’m not even sure why I’m so upset.
Damn it all to fucking shit…