Before you go... //h.s

Citizen Kane

^^mental health warning

I have done nothing for three days other than lie curled into the smallest ball I can possibly manage. Life feels useless now, I didn't know how to ever get past this when the one constant yellow in my life, the brightest person who was constantly strong with a smile on her beautiful face, was gone. My brightest star had faded.

I know that sounds cheesy, but she was my mother. And I hadn't realised how much I needed her, how she was a quiet, stable force in my life until she was gone.

Pain was a word much too mild to describe the endless shattering of my very soul that was occurring right now.

I never appreciated her enough.

I never told her I loved her enough.

Not only do I have the guilt that I didn't tell her enough how much she meant to me, but I also have the weight on my shoulders that I killed her. And how the hell was I supposed to tell my dad and my brother that?

I could even think back to the exact moment I made her death come:

Get down the stairs into the kitchen in 10 seconds or less otherwise your Mum will die.

The compulsion springs into my head, unwanted and unwelcome. I know there's no logical connection between the time it takes me to get down the stairs and my Mum's death, but I can't help but believe it anyway.

That's what ocd is I guess.

So, as usual, I spring out of bed, scrambling desperately towards my door and yanking it open. I clutter out and tread heavily as I run towards the stairs.

7 seconds left.

My Dad is coming upstairs, a basket of laundry in his arms, he frowns at me with annoyance,

'Iris, your mother is sleeping please try and be quieter,' he reprimands like I'm some five-year-old. I nod hastily, still hurrying down the stairs. How can I explain to him that I may be disturbing her in this moment, but I'm saving her life in the long run?

Four seconds left.

I still have the whole staircase to get down, not to mention then running down the hallway to the kitchen. I jump down the stairs, skipping steps as my breathing increases. I have to make it to the kitchen.

Two seconds left.

There are only three stairs and then a hallway. I can do it. My heartbeat races desperately as I keep pushing forward to the kitchen. My lungs strain with the speed I'm trying to keep up and my hair falls out of it's ponytail. I don't care though.

1 second left.

The stairs are gone, but I still have the whole hallway to get down. I focus on my clock, making sure I don't do it in over ten seconds but I have hardly any time left, my feet trip over each other in my desperate haste, my breathing erratic as my heart works overtime to pump blood through my body.

Then the clock marks another second gone. Ten seconds have passed and I'm not in the kitchen.

Fuck. My mum's going to die and it'll be all my fucking fault.

Which is why I'm currently curled in my bed, enormous foaming waves of guilt pushing me further and further under the surface.

I haven't seen my brother and Dad for three days, each other us confined in our solitary bubbles of absolute eternal agony. I have hardly even bitten into any food, I'm not hungry, I don't care about keeping myself healthy right now.