DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #176 - love, hate, love

فيزا 💔

'Rose, d'ya want me to call a doctor?' Mike asks, as soon as he's close enough to me to see that I'm having it so bad, he thinks I might need to see a doctor. And I furrow my brows for a number of reasons, because despite my shitty condition, I'm still staying surprisingly lucid: first, I don't want any of his attention, because it's making me feel more humbled and weaker than I think I am, and I fucking hate it. Second, it's super cringe to have my ex lover worrying for me when my boyfriend (more like ex boyfriend at this point) is out there giving zero fucks about me. Third, I just want to be left alone with my pain, if it's even an option, given that I'm in someone else's room and that I don't make the rules over there. Fourth, I have PTSD from doctors, I don't want to see one, and I want to pull myself out of my crappy state like the girl boss, failed doctor that I am. I don't need no doctor. I could've been a doctor if I wanted to, because I'm not as dumb as Sean wants me to believe I am... but for a number of reasons, dumbassery not involved, I decided to dedicate my life to animals and not to shitty humans. I know that what I'm having is a panic attack, it doesn't take a degree in medicine to be aware of it, and I know that I just have to wait until it subsides to feel slightly better with myself. I know I have bradycardia, I've been struggling with it since birth, and I'm not worried one bit about my heart beating too slow into my chest. I'm used to it, and I have meds for my condition in my suitcase, ready and available for any necessity. It's just that I can't go back to where my suitcase is without having to face Sean, his bullshit, and a couple flying objects and harsh words... and that's why I think I'll send Inez there for me. And I'll keep my fingers crossed he won't get something thrown his way too, because I still haven't understood if he's got something to do with Sean's shit mood of the night, or not quite.

'No, Mike... can you go ... to Sean's room... I need my meds...'. I mumble, with that letting Mike know that I need no pity and no doctor... just my blister of my drug of choice, to say it à la Alice in Chains. He slightly smiles at my words, probably as an attempt to cheer me up or something... but I frown and that's it, because I know that I'm getting a dude in serious trouble, sending him to the room of some other dude who's totally out of his mind for some reason that only he knows. But can you blame me? My meds are somewhere on the floor of Sean's room, and I can't go back there because I don't want to get back to him (and give him the impression that I can't stay away from him). That, and my legs wouldn't even sustain me on my way there. Mike offered to help, in the way that he wanted to call an ambulance or a doctor on me, but I don't want any of that... so who said I can't take profit of his willingness to help in terms that would be less triggering to me? No selfishness here, just a little bit of common sense coming from a broken girl who knows what she's going through, and what's the molecule to swallow in order to feel a solid 0,5% better. No more and no less than that, because my heart beating too slow into my chest is only the tip of a much bigger iceberg: meds could as well increase my heart rate, and they will, but will they put my heart back up from the million pieces it's been shattered into? No medicine could ever. Not even a taste of the most sincere, purest love from the guy who dragged me in such a state.

'Okay. This is from your boyfriend though'. Mike nods, his words accompanied by one of his usual, unproblematic, all natural and wide, warm smiles. And before I can even manifest my disappointment because he's labelling a man whom I no longer consider as 'my boyfriend' as such, I catch him sliding a hand into his pyjama top, and I see the smile on his lips growing bigger. I rub my eyes open, because I no longer know what's going on here... and when I can see Mike handing my camel plushie over to me, specifying that this is 'from Sean', I start to cry uncontrollably, all over again. This is just too overwhelming, too much to bear for me, at least for my current state: I can't believe that I was hugging that plushie for relief when I was still in his room, and he yelled at me, called me a childish ass, and asked me when I was gonna 'grow the fuck up'. Now he's using it as a peace offering, instead of offering himself in flesh and bone, because he knows I wouldn't be ready nor willing to be face to face with him... and I can't cope with this. I can only cry, hug my beloved plushie, and tuck under the blanket with him between my arms. Then cry some more, wipe off my tears with my fingertips, and realise once and for all that this delirium of Sean's has never been about me accepting a ride from Inez when he didn't come to pick me up as he'd promised he was gonna. If Inez was the problem, Sean wouldn't have gone to him, gave him my stuffed camel toy, and asked him to give it to me. If Inez was the problem, Sean would've unalived him already, or at least so I think, at least in proportion to what he's done to me. Mike ain't hesitating one bit to give into my request to head to Sean's room and retrieve my medicines, and now he's strutting his unproblematic way to the door, smiling because he knows he's got this.