Dear Jack

Chapter Four

The sound of my alarm clock screaming at me is everything I dread. I punch my clock to shut it up, even though it will go off again in a few minutes. I pull my bed sheets over my head, into the warm darkness. So dark. So alone. So peaceful. Although it's been a long time since I've felt truly peaceful and happy. I wonder if I'm capable of ever feeling truly happy like I once was? Or is that gone now? Now that I've been through more trauma I've been broken down and now am rebuilding myself and have to find a new version of happy that's a little less 'happy' than the last. So happy for me will gradually become more of a tingle in my constant numbness.

I crawl out of bed and into my shower where the hot water tingles my healing cuts and rinses the dry blood off the fresh ones that I engraved last night in a breakdown. Oh, how bittersweet this feeling is. I hate myself for it, but man do I live for this stinging sensation now. I have the sharp pains of making the cuts themselves and then I get a second round of fresh pain when I rinse them off in the shower. The smooth hot water running across my skin, scarred and unscarred feels so good.

I eventually pull myself out of this fucked up mindset I have going on and get out of the shower and dressed for work. I don't have the time to... feel. I head downstairs and say goodbye to my mother, giving her a kiss on the cheek and wishing her well for the day. She stops me and turns me in to hug her. She hugged me tighter today. "I love you Alex, have a good day" she smiles, looking lovingly into my eyes.

"I love you two Mum, I'll see you this afternoon" I wave to her as I head out the door and walk a few blocks down the road to my coffee shop.

You know how sometimes when you're driving, you drift off into a vivid daydream and then all of a sudden, you're at your destination and you literally have absolutely no idea how you got there, safely even? Yeah, well that was my walk this morning except it felt like I blacked out. I do not recall walking past all the houses in my street and I certainly do not recall crossing the roads at the pedestrian crossings. It's as if my brain decided to black out my surroundings and hide me inside my mind. How I wasn't hit by a car is nothing short of a miracle. But I made it to my coffee shop and my anxiety turned on.

A deep sinking, nauseating feeling dropped in my stomach like it does before every shift and my mouth becomes a bit dry. I can feel my hands start to tremor but I try to control it. I need to control it or at least send the tremors to my legs. I can't spill hot coffee on myself anymore, everyone is starting to get worried about me. I only started spilling hot coffee on myself by accident after my break up with him and then again after Tom passed away because I couldn't control my anxiety tremors. I don't want my coworkers looking at me too closely. I don't want them seeing me like this. I don't want them knowing how mentally ill I am, how fucked up I am. I don't want them to worry about me or feel like they have to walk on eggshells around me.

I cleared my throat and put on my 'early morning sheepish smile' and walk inside. The bell on the door alerts the staff that I am here and I am greeted by a few 'Good morning, Alex" by the staff. I throw my wallet and keys in my little locker out the back, put on my apron and walk to my coffee machine, greeting Abbie, my 'coffee babe' as she calls us. Abbie and I talk all day long, about anything and everything. Well, it's mostly Abbie talking about herself and me just listening but I enjoy it. It's less time I get to focus on me and more time I get to actually listen to someone else and be some kind of caring human being for once. Plus, its nice to listen to someone who is so positive and joyful about everything. She makes everyone around her smile, its contagious. She even makes me smile on the days I feel like a smile will never be possible for me anymore.

I've always wished I could be more like Abbie and a lot less like myself.

"I like your nails Abbie, where did you get them done?" I ask her trying to make conversation.