me myself and i
People say that I'm cold at times.
At work, I'm known as "The Ice Queen".
I turn up, do my job well (which is probably why I still have one) and quietly count down the hours until I can get the fuck out of dodge and make my way back home.
I speak if I'm spoken to, but most of my conversations these days I have with my cat...I don't mind, and he seems to like it, so it's an arrangement that suits us both it would seem.
But here's the thing that people don't realise; I didn't ever plan to be
"Cold", it wasn't something I aimed for or ever aspired to - back in the day, before PTSD hit, I was funny and witty and clever and kind, it's just that somehow, somewhere along the way, after one too many kicks in the teeth, sometimes you just " get" cold …and then you find you can't warm up.
You get spiky, angry, protective, defensive...you forget how to just "be" with people, and so you in the end you just don't mix.
And people around you call you weird, or think that you're a witch because all you seem to do these days is stay at home with your cat (because that's where you feel safe, and anyway, that cat is all you have)
They don't know the half of it.
Because weeks, months, and years of total headfuckery is enough to freeze even the warmest of hearts, so its hardly surprising then that one day " Poof!"...before you know it, old happy, carefree you is gone, and suddenly you're standing in a garden with a scarf around your neck, waiting for someone to stick a carrot on your face…
So he's coming to see me. This amazing "blast from the past" super-cool person of mine.
Because it's going to be amazing.
Me and him. A hotel room somewhere. And an absolute whale of a time guaranteed. All arranged lastminute.com which is always how we roll...
A "Hey _____ I've been thinking. I've missed your face. And I'd really love to come see you again ...are you gonna be free between ____ and _____? (Him)
(Me) "What's there to even think about? Do it. Come see me. Get in the car and get down here...will be amazing. So yes. I'll make sure that I'm free...'cos I've missed your face too..." kind of conversation.
And so he's coming. To see me. In two weeks. I'm turning cartwheels.
Fuck...I'm turning cartwheels.
I need to do a risk assesment...
Mental illness runs in my family.
Addiction and suicide are rife - My fathers side mainly.
I have his hair. And the same blue/grey eyes. I wonder if this counts? That one day this will be enough to tip me over - and I get to join the ranks of all of those who came before me.
They grew up in and out of care, my fathers family...Seven institutionalised adults came churning out of the machine after my nan decided that she didn't much like children after all once they'd arrived. I can only imagine the damage that did to them all...I can't even begin to imagine how that must have felt.