Aug 3, 2017

a typical morning - inside my terrible mind




I wake startled from a disturbing, violent dream. Panting, gasping for breath, I’m already tired!

Pain. Why do I feel pain in my back? How did I hurt my back? I spent my adult life so far, wondering how I hurt my back.

I better get up. Why do my ribs hurt when I breath? Was it the way I slept?

Oh! God I want chocolate, but chocolate isn’t breakfast, I’ll have coffee and try to eat a piece of toast.

What shall I make Jori for breakfast before I leave for work? I’m too tired to make French toast! Should I just let her eat cereal? No, I should make something. Something proper.

Oh god every bone in my body aches! Why does every joint and every bone ache?

I should try to go to the gym today, working out will help. But I’m SO TIRED. But it will help ease my joints and muscles. And the adrenaline will make me feel better. But work! I feel so tired after work, especially when I think; I have to get home, cook, clean, help Jori with her Arabic.

I need to get dressed, Oh God, my face! I look so tired, so drained, so… Ugly.

What fresh hell is waiting for me at work today? How many imbeciles on the road? I can’t wait to get back home and sleep again, but my sleep is so restless and agitated.

I’ll just wear black, black is forgiving. I’ll just throw this on and go. who’s going to look at me anyway! I look like crap anyway, nothing matters anyway, I’m invisible. I haven’t used any makeup in months. I can’t, it’s painful, it physically hurts when I apply foundation to cover my skin flaws. I don’t know when, or how it started to hurt, it never hurt before. When is before? I don’t know. No eyeliner, I’ve been crying so much, for too long, my eyes are always itchy, painful and stained.

I sometimes dab a bit of Chap Stick because my lips are cracked and dry.. I’m a desert.. everything is cracked and dry.. my heart is cracked and dry.

I remember the e-mail I left unanswered. An old friend, lost touch years ago.. eight?.. ten years ago? She e-mailed to tell me her father passed a few months back!

“Good” I thought. Oh God! How could I be so awful!

She also felt it was important to mention that “God had blessed her with a disabled child”

“Blessed her!”.. Oh No! I’m such an awful human being..

If only she kept her legs shut! The slut! Oh God.. please.. don’t go there, why am I such a shit?

She had two babies in the two first years of her marriage with only a month between the two pregnancies! She probably had another two before this last one!

It’s none of my business. Why am I so hateful, so judgmental, so cruel! Why am I such a shitty person.

Why is she contacting me after all these years? looking for sympathy? 

I can’t think about this. I don’t want to think about this. When I’m up to it, maybe this afternoon, I’ll reply with a couple of lines, keep it simple and casual: “I’m sorry for your loss. I can only imagine how difficult it is to mother a disabled child, God bless you and give you strength” That’s it. I don’t have to tell her anything about myself, about how the last two years have been so difficult, about my pain, about my suffering. My pain and my suffering don’t matter. It’s not like I’ve had a disabled child!

I better go, I’ll be late..I hate this, I hate my job.. I hate that I have to do this job.. a jab of pain whenever I think of how much I hate my job.

My car is so dusty, and old, and scratched and rusty and rundown … and, well, a dump.

I’ll wipe it quickly before I go.. it doesn’t have to be perfect.. it won’t look washed, but decent, it will look decent. I read a Polish saying “Chop your own wood, and it will warm you twice” and now when I wish I didn’t have to wipe my car, or clean my flat, I repeat “Chop your own wood and it will warm you twice”, “Chop your own wood and it will warm you twice”. But the weather is so hot in this shitty country that I don’t want to be warmed, I need to be cooled down! I work on the windshield, it’s always the dustiest, and the hardest to clean. A neighbor comes along, that same neighbor, that perfect looking man. Why is he so perfect looking? He nods his head and says good morning, I reply a quick agitated greeting, bent on the windshield awkwardly, trying to get that top spot, out of reach. Why is he talking to me? Why is he being nice! I hate him, with his perfect honey colored hair, and his blue eyes! Why the fuck is he blond with blue eyes! Probably Lebanese, from the accent. God I hate him! God I’m such a hateful person. Why do I hate someone I don’t know, and who is perfectly nice to me? I don’t even know his name! and the only words we’ve exchanged are ‘good morning’. Why is he so good looking, and perfect? That perfect tall, fit, ripped body! What is he going to do with all this beauty? What does he need it for? Why was he given so much? Why are other people blessed so much?

I get in the car and turn the air-conditioning knob to its highest. I drive off. momentarily not thinking of where I’m going, but needing to move, hating where I am. Riddled with unfocused, confused, angry, hateful thoughts.

Leaving feels good temporarily. Leaving… always leaving.