I lived. Only to die in regret

The scent of lavender was overpowering. It was too strong, it brought back so much. It made my mind go adrift, off to where I wasn't welcome, where I'd torn and broke and snapped and pulled away everything, from myself more than anything. I was lonely, I was lost. I didn't understand, couldn't think, but I was stuck in the whirling bleak darkness of nothing. I was something. I made my mark, but too strong. I was venomous, though I didn't realise, I could wipe any good mood from anyone, no one wanted to be around me. But I didn't want to be around them, I wanted revenge from something so deep,I couldn't describe. I was still in that unknown place, deep, far, way out, into the mistiness of anger, rage, but not mine, it just lingered around me and I couldn't get rid of it. My mind floated back to how I was a child, happy, full of fun and imagination like a jar of giggles. Anything was real if you believed it. It still could be. I was floating further and further back, living the memories over and over again; the good and the bad. The harm I didn't see I was doing. And I blame it on her, her, the horrid person who ruled my life inside out, the horrid person who kept me trapped, didn't let me just be. That's what I wanted. To explore, to find. However, in spite of this I remember all too well, all too strong how I could harm, but I couldn't feel, so how was I to know? She led me. I couldn't help but follow, let her drag me down the wrong path time and time again. Misery. A bad life I was in, and I shall never rest in peace, never! All I can do is pass time in Hell by thinking, but thinking means revisiting my life. All it brings is pain.Frustration that I did it that way, that I was strong but not strong enough. Blind to mistakes. Now my chance has gone to tell her she was wrong, to face up to her.I'm now in hell. Not literally but close enough. To be buried under a heap of soil in the ground. My arms strapped to the sides of my body. No freedom. I can't even move. I just think and yet all I can think is this. The same cycle goes round my head every painstaking day. I can't remember my surroundings.Is it day... Or night? How do I know if it's light and bright in the day, or black and silent in the night? If Autumnal leaves have spread themselves, changing from green to yellow to a cosy heat of amber? If clear crystals of white slippery ice have started growing down from roofs of houses?

If anyone cares, or if this silly game is still being played. If only everyone knew the honest me. I hope they all don't or haven't already fallen for that sticky mess of a woman. I bet confidence and smugness radiates every corner of her, and that her eyes gleam in the the moon's company, like a witch's apprentice of a cat does when conjuring up a spell.

I continue to breathe in the suffocating smell of the sweet, purple buds of lavender, that have no doubtedly been picked fresh today from my mother's own garden by the woman that shaped my past, and no doubt left me in this hated present. How she'll now smirking down on me now, repeating satisfying thoughts of my death in her head. My death, and I blame it on her....

I can recall summer of 1986.

Only vaguely.

My mother said that I was best friends with this girl, Patricia. She said that Patricia's Mum was a funny one.