Where Is God? - Sabriel

iv (drip)

It's been a few weeks since the day I was late and had a panic attack at school. Things are just as stressful, just as hectic, I'm still struggling just as much to keep my head above the water. Fortunately, I've returned to my baseline level of distress, which is probably significantly higher than the average person's, but it's low enough for me to stay afloat. Unfortunately, as already exhibited, all it takes is a sharp, disapproving word from a teacher for me to become completely submerged, water filling my lungs, deep sea monsters (A.K.A all my repressed mental health issues and secret fears of fundamental inadequacy) latch onto my legs and drag me further, digging in deeper and drawing blood every time I struggle, until I'm so deep into the ocean of my insecurities that the weight of it kills me before the monsters get a chance to eat me alive. Nice imagery, right?

Anyway, I'm bobbing along alright at the moment. I'm still late to every first lesson, only by a minute or so, and there's nothing I can do about that. If there was some way to rejig my morning schedule in order to give me time to get to school and take a single breath before I had to launch head first into lessons, I would've done it months ago, when dad first left. How long has it been now? I honestly can't remember. Maybe 5 months? Maybe forever. Not having him there is more familiar to me now than having him there ever was. I guess he was sort of an absent father before he was an Absent Father. Whenever he got home from work, he greeted us as if we were all strangers from the street that had suddenly decided to shack up in his house, and he was too polite to turn us away. He was peculiar about touching, always brushing off the younger ones when they tried to hug him. He liked to have an influence over us though- he spent hours lecturing us about was right and what was wrong, what we should and shouldn't do, what our destinies were, as if he had it all figured out already and we were merely pawns in his great game.

Sam and I chat an awful lot recently, something I'm rather pleased about. About what, I have no idea, because it's not about our lives that's for sure. He doesn't know a single thing about me, what's going on at home, how messed up everything everything is for me externally as well as internally. I don't mind. I don't want anyone to know, especially someone I like as much as Sam. When I care about someone, I do my darnedest to control how they perceive me, which means... no one knows what's going on in the inside. The inside is an uncontrollable whirlwind of disaster, therefore, the outside has to have some sort of semblance of put-togetherness for the sake of balance. Without that, it would all fall apart. It's like those old decrepit buildings that look perfect from the outside, architectural excellence. The inside, however, is completely falling apart, uninhabitable, structures crumbling, stairs threatening to collapse if you step on them. At least there's a rat's nest and some spiders if I get lonely.

All of my time in school, apart from art lessons, are with him, and I become more and more obsessed with him. He makes me laugh on days when the world is so intense I want to cry. He's so cute, so so sweet, and when he blushes, my heart does all sorts of crazy things.

We're walking down the corridor together for lunch on a Friday afternoon.

"Every time we have maths, you complain afterwards. Why do you even take it?" Sam asks.

"Because the maths teachers told me I'd never be able to do an A Level in it, and I thought it'd be funny to prove them wrong. They may have been right, but I'm doing okay, aren't I? I passed that trigonometry test, didn't I?" I protested with a pout.

Sam laughed gently. He has a magnificent laugh, a deep and soft reverberation. "You did, yes. Well done."

"Gabe!" Michael hollers at me from down the corridor.

"Sup, little bro," I greet as Michael comes up to us.

"Jay invited me to sleep over tonight. Is that alright?"