Sunday, 10 April 2011
I daren’t look in the mirror – I don't recognise the face that stares back at me anymore. I don't know who I am. I am nobody.
I had a dream last night. That I was upset,angry even. So I left the house and went outside into the dark, sat on a bench with my back to a window. I heard him coming through the garden, coming through the darkness and I thought – he will see me here. And partly I felt foolish for being there; for hiding in the dark.
But he didn’t see me.
He just opened the door and went inside. And I thought, of course he can’t see me; not here in the dark. But – oh – couldn’t he sense me? Couldn’t he feel me? And then I thought...ah, but inside, when he goes inside, then he will see me, through the window, sitting alone in the dark, in the cold. Waiting.
But the door did not open. There was no tap on the window.
I remembered back to when I was little, so small. Not even at school. Four maybe? Someone had been angry with me – Mum? Dad? Maybe not even angry. But I had felt affronted; not seen; not understood. So I left home. I walked out and marched down the road. It seemed so far and I listened for footsteps behind. Hoped for a voice raised in concern, in love.
I sat, tired, on a low wall. I waited for what seemed like hours; maybe only minutes. Time passes differently when you’re a child.
What am I doing? What can I do? If he won't come to me, then I have to go to him. Yet riddle me this, dear diary - how do I get to Hell?