Christmas

 Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Almost hyperventilated on my way home from my parents house. I feel so fucking alone. I was safe, secure – before all this. Now, not so much. Really, I guess John could have gone and blacked out at anytime and turned into a monster. So maybe I wasn’t entirely safe. But at least I felt like I was. Now…I don’t feel safe anywhere. 

At my parents house, I have to listen to my mother like listening to the ghost of my future. Fuck all that. At my own home there are reminders everywhere of my failures. At Matthew’s I didn’t feel safe either. He is escaping this. This, and all of his other shit, of which he has a lot. I knew that. I fucking knew that shit. I want to escape. I want to get obliterated tonight. 

I got back to the house and I could tell John had been here. What the fuck was he doing here? When was he here? Last night, while I was in Austin? Today, during the day? Why was he sitting on our couch and watching TV? What the fuck? Started to call Vic and stopped myself. Did call Matthew, no answer, no fucking surprise. I didn’t leave a message, which generally means he won’t call back. I want to run to him. I want to lose myself in him. Only he isn’t there to run to. He isn’t home, he’s vacant, gone. I saw a glimpse of the Matthew I know this morning, when we were getting ready to leave. But last night he was totally fucking gone. He would talk about nothing other than bullshit, avoided any serious questions, and threw walls up around his fucking walls. I really can’t fucking blame him. I want that to be me. Only I don’t have the guts to go out all alone on Christmas. And I know where he is, but I don’t feel like crashing and ruining his night without his knowing ahead of time. I texted Vic, finally, but he hasn’t gotten back to me. I don’t want to be around April and Trisha. 

I remembered the fucking six pack of beers I bought on Thursday night that was sitting on the floorboard of my backseat. They’re little baby 8 oz beers, but it should be just enough. So I’m forcing them down, hoping someone, anyone, will call me back and offer me an escape plan. I can’t deal with the pain. It’s just too fucking awful. I left John, and for what? For my independence? For my so called happiness? Who’s fucking happy right now? Not me. Not John. Not Matthew. But were we really happy before? Was it fake? Fuuuuuuuckkk. Someone please get me the fuck out of this house. I have therapy tomorrow. And Mazzio’s with my brother and sister in law. And a movie if I can stand mom. Tomorrow I have to see people and talk and act normal. But not right fucking now. I just wish I had someone to share my self-inflicted obliteration with. 

I could text him. He would probably answer a fucking text. He would probably tolerate me. Maybe, even, since I’m actually willing to take it all the way to obliteration, he might actually be the person I want him to be for me. Someone who makes me smile and forget. 

Too late now, I texted him. With my real feelings. The awful ones: the ones that I haven’t been able to tell him. Destructive much? I think so. Beer number two is almost gone. Why the fuck would I say that shit to him? Because he hasn’t been through enough hurt? Nice Katie. Real fucking nice. 

I’ll sure tomorrow’s therapy appointment will be even more interesting than the last two. Fuck me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.