There it was again, that fricking black hole. Stumbled into it rather unexpected, but some things trigger so bad. Yesterday, I had an offensive customer in the shop, and he smelled of cigarrettes and a certain after shave. I managed to handle him, then hit the blackout. Nothing until I “awoke” in our storeroom. Stood there and had a bundle of carrots in my hand, not knowing how I made it there or what I wanted to do with the veggies. My boss found me some time later (meanwhile I had settled unter the table) and called John, but could not get hold of him because he was in a meeting and not in his office, so she called my brother. Half an hour later, I sat in his car, staring at a spot on the window, being unable to speak or move or do anything but drooling. Yeah, drooling. It’s that degrading. My brother drove me home, maneuvered me in my bed, even managed to take off my shoes. I lay as frozen, barely breathing. Do you know the Petrificus Totalus spell in those Harry Potter novels? That’s quite how it is.
He stayed with me, tried to instill some water into me and just sat there, holding my hand and trying to talk to me. I did not even really hear him. The movie I saw was a different one. Finally, my brother could get hold of John, who was home in an instance. Somewhere between watching that rapeporn in my mind and considering dying I thought how embarrassing I was. Just a liability. Dumb and useless.
It’s a bit weird, but sunset makes things better, most of the times. Only darkness is better still, when people have returned home and watch T.V., keeping rather quiet and not bothering me with their noises. So at about 10 p.m., some hours after I padded into that black hole, my body finally began shaking and my breath got deeper. It’s always like this. Freezing, blackout, that fricking movie inside my head, then shaking and slowly coming back to myself.
John was sweet. Holding my hand, later holding me and at midnight driving me to a fast food restaurant because I needed fries desperately. Coming back into my body feels druggy. My body is too tight, feels like jelly or sometimes even aches.
It’s not just that he fucked me and made money out of that. It’s not just that he injured, almost killed me and made me think I like and deserve it. It’s not just that I see myself as an insane, cracked sort of “person”. It’s not even that I need to reenact what he did over and over again. It’s that after almost 20 years after his gutless suicide he still fucks my mind and body as if there had been no interruption. I guess he would like that.