Last September.
I was meant to be going down to stay on Tuesday night, I'd stay all Wednesday too, and set off home on the Thursday morning. We ended up having an argument on the Sunday night. I didn't eat much on Monday, and I don't think I ate anything the day after that. All day I harbored such a deep sickly feeling. I couldn't concentrate on anything.
I remember setting off on that journey. It was rush hour, and would take me a good 2 hours to get to where I was going. I didn't care how fast I drove, I just wanted to be there. I couldn't wait in the traffic, I couldn't keep stopping and starting and crawling along at 3mph...I just wanted to get there NOW. I know it sounds weird, but at the same time I didn't want to get there quickly. I didn't ever want to get there. I knew that once I did then things would only get worse. At least I still had something at this point. Sure it could be better, but it could be worse too. I was trapped in a no-man's land. Not wanting to drive another mile, while not being able to stop even for a minute. I just wanted time to stop right there. If the world had suddenly imploded and we had all been wiped out, right there, right then, I wouldn't of minded. I wanted someone to find the pause button and press it so I wouldn't have to deal with this feeling. Unfortunately for me no one did press pause.
By the time I got into Wales it was starting to get dark, and there was a light drizzle in the air - how very apt. The street lights looked beautiful that night. I always love being out in the car at night, I always have done since I was a kid. The line of bright red brake lights burning into the night infront of me offered a feeling of warmth and comfort. They really were beautiful. I hadn't realized it until now, but I had been listening to the same song on repeat for my whole journey. From Manchester to Wales listening to one sinlge song, and I was too out of my head with worry that I hadn't noticed until now. The song was 'White Trash Heroes' by Archers of Loaf. I'll never forget being in slow traffic crawling up the hill and hearing the familiar bass-line coming
from the boot of my car. Past the quarry, left at the cross roads by the church, right into the shared drive way, ok I'm finally here, this is it.
"Have you been cutting yourself?" "I'm not going to answer that." "Thats a yes then eh?" "You know me that well don't you." I certainly do. Well I did, I'm not sure I do anymore, and I reckon that you're probably glad that I don't, and I can't blame you for that.
Both of you're arms were cut to fucking ribbons. Red lines running from about mid-way between the shoulder and elbow to just above the wrist. You're arms where so badly cut up, and it was my fault. It was all my fault. The guy who'd told you he loved you, and he'd do anything for you, and he'd be there to help and support you as best he could - he was the one who caused all this. The one person I was meant to look after, and look what a great job I did. You've got
to believe me that I never meant for this to happen, honestly I didn't, and if there was anything I could do to change things you know I would. Not just this, but everything in you're past that you've been through. You know I would change that if I could. But I couldn't then, and I can't now. Just one more thing to add to that long list of things that I'm unable to do - or unable to do properly. There's a right way to do something, and a ton of wrong ways. My way is always one of the wrong ways. It isn't intentional, it's just one of those things I guess. It was my fault, and I can't hurt myself enough to ever make that 'ok'.
I didn't sleep that night, you kept telling me that everything would be ok now. Part of me wanted more than anything to believe you, but there was part of me that knew you were just saying that. I tried to fool myself into thinking things would get better, and it kinda worked...but not fully. I backed the car up, stopped and looked up at your window. That room that I'd spent so much time in, where some of my happiest memories took place, where we'd stand and look out at the night. Your curtains were still pulled on. That window looked very depressing all of a sudden. I carried on backing the car up, turned it around, and I was just about to pull onto the road when I took a look back. You'd come to the window. You mouthed out the words 'I love you'. I did the same. That was the last time I saw you. I made it as far as Tesco's carpark before I had to pull in, tears were running down my face. I don't remember much of the drive
home. I hadn't slept at all, and I hadnt eaten anything since Monday night. My vision was blurred from the tears. Anything could of happened on that journey and I wouldn't of been any the wiser about it. I ended up driving straight past the junction where I needed to come off the motorway, so I had to drive all the way around Manchester again to get back on the right track.
I know you'll never read this, but I'm sorry. For everything. I'm sorry.
I remember setting off on that journey. It was rush hour, and would take me a good 2 hours to get to where I was going. I didn't care how fast I drove, I just wanted to be there. I couldn't wait in the traffic, I couldn't keep stopping and starting and crawling along at 3mph...I just wanted to get there NOW. I know it sounds weird, but at the same time I didn't want to get there quickly. I didn't ever want to get there. I knew that once I did then things would only get worse. At least I still had something at this point. Sure it could be better, but it could be worse too. I was trapped in a no-man's land. Not wanting to drive another mile, while not being able to stop even for a minute. I just wanted time to stop right there. If the world had suddenly imploded and we had all been wiped out, right there, right then, I wouldn't of minded. I wanted someone to find the pause button and press it so I wouldn't have to deal with this feeling. Unfortunately for me no one did press pause.
By the time I got into Wales it was starting to get dark, and there was a light drizzle in the air - how very apt. The street lights looked beautiful that night. I always love being out in the car at night, I always have done since I was a kid. The line of bright red brake lights burning into the night infront of me offered a feeling of warmth and comfort. They really were beautiful. I hadn't realized it until now, but I had been listening to the same song on repeat for my whole journey. From Manchester to Wales listening to one sinlge song, and I was too out of my head with worry that I hadn't noticed until now. The song was 'White Trash Heroes' by Archers of Loaf. I'll never forget being in slow traffic crawling up the hill and hearing the familiar bass-line coming
from the boot of my car. Past the quarry, left at the cross roads by the church, right into the shared drive way, ok I'm finally here, this is it.
"Have you been cutting yourself?" "I'm not going to answer that." "Thats a yes then eh?" "You know me that well don't you." I certainly do. Well I did, I'm not sure I do anymore, and I reckon that you're probably glad that I don't, and I can't blame you for that.
Both of you're arms were cut to fucking ribbons. Red lines running from about mid-way between the shoulder and elbow to just above the wrist. You're arms where so badly cut up, and it was my fault. It was all my fault. The guy who'd told you he loved you, and he'd do anything for you, and he'd be there to help and support you as best he could - he was the one who caused all this. The one person I was meant to look after, and look what a great job I did. You've got
to believe me that I never meant for this to happen, honestly I didn't, and if there was anything I could do to change things you know I would. Not just this, but everything in you're past that you've been through. You know I would change that if I could. But I couldn't then, and I can't now. Just one more thing to add to that long list of things that I'm unable to do - or unable to do properly. There's a right way to do something, and a ton of wrong ways. My way is always one of the wrong ways. It isn't intentional, it's just one of those things I guess. It was my fault, and I can't hurt myself enough to ever make that 'ok'.
I didn't sleep that night, you kept telling me that everything would be ok now. Part of me wanted more than anything to believe you, but there was part of me that knew you were just saying that. I tried to fool myself into thinking things would get better, and it kinda worked...but not fully. I backed the car up, stopped and looked up at your window. That room that I'd spent so much time in, where some of my happiest memories took place, where we'd stand and look out at the night. Your curtains were still pulled on. That window looked very depressing all of a sudden. I carried on backing the car up, turned it around, and I was just about to pull onto the road when I took a look back. You'd come to the window. You mouthed out the words 'I love you'. I did the same. That was the last time I saw you. I made it as far as Tesco's carpark before I had to pull in, tears were running down my face. I don't remember much of the drive
home. I hadn't slept at all, and I hadnt eaten anything since Monday night. My vision was blurred from the tears. Anything could of happened on that journey and I wouldn't of been any the wiser about it. I ended up driving straight past the junction where I needed to come off the motorway, so I had to drive all the way around Manchester again to get back on the right track.
I know you'll never read this, but I'm sorry. For everything. I'm sorry.
posted by pruvaloo at 7:04 PM
1 Comments:
Course I dont mind :)
Post a Comment
<< Home