𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

18. peg the patriarchy. (pt.1.)

E I G H T E E N
peg the patriarchy.

When you spend enough time around certain people, their lives eventually look normal.

Consciously you know they're not, but Kim Kardashian doesn't go around shocked all the time that people are coming up to her; but she can logically tell you, that's not normal.

Rafe is not normal, he did way too many drugs, had way too much money, and always did the oh-so-gentlemanly thing of offering me a bit of whatever he was taking. It was usually a thinly veiled threat for me to take it—Franny, just fucking take it. You're way too uptight today, it's ruining the vibe.

Eventually, I hated spending time with him so much I just did. I'd snort the coke until my nose bled and my spit tasted awful, or I'd take the tabs.

But the pills, made me feel so out of my head I didn't like regularly taking them, so I'd tell him I was going to the bathroom to get water or wash my hands, and stash them in my pocket or bra if it wasn't hot. Then I'd put them in a box in my bedroom. And there they'd sit, I'd usually only take them if I couldn't sleep or was having a panic attack.

But, looking at them now, I don't entirely know which ones are which. I picked out the ecstasy I didn't want to take once, and I don't know which tabs are downers or will make me see flying pigs, so I also take those out.

I just don't want to feel, just for a second. Or the next eight hours.

There was a mission to break into my own house, climbing a tree and trying not to break my neck while grabbing the box, then climbing back out.

Now, standing under the bright lights of my brother's guest en suite, I don't know which ones to take.

I'm not careful, I never was. When I can sleep I'd do what I'm doing now, pick out the ones with little houses printed on them, because they aren't going to turn my mind off how I want to. I'd then grab a few and throw them back, go to sleep and hope my blaring alarm would make me wake up.

I remember taking too many once, my forehead hurt from where he threw an ornament at me so I threw back a few too many. My skin itched everywhere, I felt so hot despite it being the middle of winter, my face tingled, I was so tired but felt like the world was spinning too and my heart was too loud in my head to sleep.

I didn't do anything about it, it was Boxing Day and I lay on the cool tiles of my bathroom floor to cool down, and I thought of everything.

It wasn't a suicide attempt, nothing like that. But I think there are accidents that are fully accidents where you aren't careful, and you don't care to be, and you die. If I had died, that's what it would've been.

But I didn't. I woke up freezing in the bathroom door, wondering what would've happened if I did.

It didn't scare me. Or at least not as much as it should've.

Right now, my head feels like it's going to explode and I've already taken a few shots because I want to forget the last twelve hours.

I tried crying it out while Hayley held me, promising whatever was wrong would work itself out. And when I told her I felt too broken for that to be true she assured me I wasn't broken. But I sure feel broken. Because, if a boy who was taught you shouldn't express emotions can talk about them better than I can, then I must be broken. Because I was taught to tell people how I feel, somewhere along the line, between my Dad's shouting starting to be directed at me, and Rafe not wanting me to bring the mood down, I stopped telling people. And not even psychiatrists can pry that information out of me.

I'm fine. No, I won't kill myself. That's what they get. Super helpful.

It's only when my Mum points out the fact I didn't get out of bed for three days that, that I can admit maybe I'm not feeling amazing.