lets stitch the memories back ;

>> Thursday, August 25, 2005

))

from the same book as before:

I was shocked by the sheer volume of water that came pouring out of the darkness of the sky.
Watching the weight of it crashing to the ground made me feel like a very young child, unable to understand what was really happening.
Like trying to understand radio waves, or imagining computers communicating along glass cables.
I leant my face against the window as the rain piled upon it, streaming down in waves, blurring my vision, making the shops opposite waver and disappear.
There was a time when I might have found this exhilarating, even miraculous, but not on that day.
That day it made me nervous and tense, unable to concentrate on anything while the noise of it clattered against the windows and the roof.
I kept opening the door to look for clear skies, and slamming it shut again.
And then around teatime, from nowhere, I smashed all the dirty plates and mugs into the washing-up bowl.
Something swept through me, swept out of and over me, something unstoppable, like water surging from a broken tap and flooding across the kitchen floor.
I don't quite understand why I felt that way, why I reacted like that.
i wanted to be saying its's just something that happens.
But I was there, that day, slamming the kitchen door over and over again until the handle came loose.
Smacking my hand against the worktop, kicking the cupboard doors, throwing the plates into the sink.
Going f***f***f*** through my clenched teeth.
I wanted someone to see me, I wanted someone to come rushing in, to take hold of me and say hey hey hey what are you doing, hey come on, what's wrong.
But there was no one there, and no one came.

I stopped eventually, when I noticed my hands were bleeding.
I must have cut them with the smashed pieces of crockery, picking pieces out of the sink to throw them back in.
I stood still for a few moments, breathing heavily, watching blood drip from my hands onto the broken plates, wanting to sit down but unable to move.
I watched the blood pooling across the palm of my hands.
I looked at the broken plates and mugs.
I wondered where such a fierce rage had come from, and I was scared by the scale of it, by the lack of control I'd had for those few minutes.
I don't remember ever feeling like that before, and it worried me to think that I might be changing in ways I could do nothing about.
I washed my hands clean, letting the blood and water pourover the broken crockery, counting about a dozen cuts, each as thin as paper.
The water began to sting so I wrapped my hands in kitchen towel and held them up into the air, leaning back against the worktop, watching the blood soak through.

Later, when the bleeding had stopped and I'd covered my hands in a patchwork of plasters I found in the bathroom, I tried getting myself some food.
I thought it would make me feel better.
I'd been planning to go out and buy something, but I couldn't face it so I stayed in and ate what I could find.
Peanut butter, sardines, cream crackers, marshmallows.
It gave me a belly ache, which seemed an appropriate end to a bad day, a wasted and damaged day.
And it kept on raining, rattling endlessly into the ground, piling up in the streets, wedged into the gutters and the drains.
It made the street look squalid and greasy.
People were scurrying along the pavement, their coats tugged tightly around themselves, their heads bowed as though they had something to hide.
And I was locking the door and closing the curtains, and I did have something to hide.

xxx

i watched the sunset from my room today.the gradual leaving and fading away of something, the impending darkness looming ahead.before you even realize, it's already left you shrouded in absolute darkness.alone.how very sad.

7:20 PM;