TW: contains mild reference to self-harm.
Today, my Mum and Sister both had the day off work so that they could have a ‘girly day out’ in the city nearest us. It’s been a long time since I managed to join in such a trip. For a start, I haven’t been able to work for the past three and a half years, so to take a random day off work ‘just because’…well, it doesn’t really apply to me. I couldn’t cope with the public transport, the city crowds, busy shops and restaurants or being away from home for such a long period (6 hours, one quarter of a day).
Furthermore, we have somehow reached a point where I’m no longer considered in the planning of these exploits. I understand this, people don’t want to put me in the position where I have to say ‘…no, I can’t come…’. This doesn’t mean I don’t want to, though. I’d give anything to be well enough to go along, to have to ask for a day off work, to be comfortable enough in my own skin that a day out in the city was possible, to be able to walk tall, without my hands shoved in my pockets and my face all but scraping the pavement, to be unafraid of noise and crowds, to have quality time with people I love more than anything, to laugh.
But none of this is going to happen overnight. So instead I found myself having to, secretly, dress self-inflicted wounds (I just feel so angry, frustrated, so bloody useless and cutting relieves that) before putting on my ‘mask’ and wishing my Mum a lovely day out as she went off to meet my Sister.
Tell me, how can you live in the same house as someone and miss them so much your heart aches?