Disconnected

I live in a world surrounded by people, but I am alone.

Every day I repeat a pattern. I wake up at 6.30 am to my first alarm and lie in my room, morning light shines between the curtains and I lie catatonic in the moment. Thinking about the day before me. I stay there, unmoving under my thick feather doona. I think about the noise my doona makes so I begin moving gently, to hear the crunch of my doona. I cuddle my pillow and hide deeper under the doona, as though the deeper I get, the less likely there will be anything out there when I raise my head and open my eyes. I love my bed. It is such a source of comfort. I have a teddy bear I have had since I was born. It is barely in one piece. My love for this inanimate object has very nearly destroyed it. His name is Teddy and he has one eye. His nose and head have holes in them and his ears are threadbare. He lies there, tucked under my arm, close to my heart. My Teddy is the only thing that has never let me down. Never changing.

My second alarm goes off, 45 minutes have passed and I have barely noticed. I open my eyes and pull the sleep out of the corners, rubbing my face to wake myself up fully. I get up and walk to the kitchen. I push down on the switch for the kettle and stand still for a moment, staring at the blue light on the kettle switch, listening intently to the gentle whirring of the kettle as it begins to boil.
I walk over to the pantry and open the door, picking up granulated coffee and raw sugar. I place them next to the kettle and turn to get a mug out of the cupboard. I stand leaning on the bench top, stirring dry coffee and sugar in my mug, watching the granules mix together and make new patterns. The kettle is getting louder. I can hear the water bubbling. The switch flicks making a clicking noise and the bubbling ceases. I pour boiling water into my mug, watching the granules dissolve into the steaming water. I move to the fridge and grab the milk bottle, slowly adding milk to my mug, watching as the dark coffee incorporates the fresh white milk, swirling as I stir, changing colour.

I take my coffee and move outside to the deck. I sit at a little table, my cigarettes in front of me. I take one out, twirling it around my fingers, craving. My small green lighter is next to the packet and I pick it up holding the cigarette between my lips, I press down on the button, the flame dances as I hold it to the cigarette, I inhale. Relief spreads through me. I sit silently, watching the wisps of smoke in the gentle breeze. My shoulders slump, my head sags. I sip from my mug and stare into the backyard. The sun is up and shining aggressively on every tree, bush and blade of grass. It’s so hot already. As I finish my cigarette, I take the stub and push it into the ashtray, rubbing out every spark until there is nothing left. My fingertips are black from ash.

I rise from my chair and move back into the house, back up the stairs towards my bedroom. In my room, I stand in front of my opened wardrobe, staring at clothes, attempting to make a decision of what to wear. I don’t really care though. I’m not really going to make a decision. I subconsciously made one a long time ago. When I stopped caring. I turn and pick up my grubby grey jeans from the floor and a white t-shirt and go into the bathroom.

I turn the shower on and disrobe. I stand there naked, staring at my body in the mirror. Looking at every curve, every hair. I am looking at myself, but I can’t see anything. The shower beats down behind me, the room filling with steam, my image in the mirror disappears as the glass fogs up. I step into the shower, every jet of water burns my body, leaving red welts behind. I stand still, never moving, burning. Time is getting away from me.
I get out, and dry myself, wiping the mirror and watching. I pull on my underwear and then my grubby jeans, one leg at a time, slowly dragging the denim up my damp legs, catching at my thighs, pulling over my hips. Standing again in front of the mirror, I grab a brush and pull it aggressively through my hair and tie it on top of my head. I put my t-shirt on and leave. As I walk up the corridor,

I grab my car keys and lock the front door behind me, today will be different. I know that at least.
I sit in my car for a minute, contemplating my movements for the day. It won’t be long now.
As I start the car, I listen to the engine revving, the warming of the vehicle, it sounds angry. I sit there, still in the drivers’ seat, silent except for the engine, watching the cars clock, seeing minutes’ tick over. As I reverse out of my driveway, I think about where I am going. I am going somewhere I know, somewhere I have been so many times. As I drive, I stare blankly ahead of me, I am there, I am in the moment, but I am not. I am disconnected.

I drive towards my mum’s house, up and down the twisting road, passing dry and empty paddocks. I worry about how hot it is today and how dry those paddocks are, each blade of grass, brown and dead. I worry about how many paddocks there are close to my mum’s house. I think about moronic people who set fires on total fire ban days and how many people in the past have been killed because of it. I adjust my own wording in my head – how many people were murdered because of it.

Somehow I have reached the rise in the road I have been searching for. Time seems to march on so slowly, but at the same time, it is gone before you know. I slow as I reach the peak and look around me, not another car on the road. I begin to gather speed. There is a round-about ahead, in the valley of the road. I have never driven this fast before. The round-about ahead has a sculpture in the middle. It’s made of steel, light blue and twisted, covering the rise ahead, blending with the sky, I have never understood it until today, today it meant everything to me. Today I could see its beginnings, the middle and the end. Today I could read the story it was telling me. I could never understand why the council decided to put it there. It’s such an empty area, such a quiet part of town. No one really lives out here, just farmers and my mum. But today I am thankful for the sculpture. As I got closer, I made no effort to veer around the round-about, no attempt to miss the sculpture. Only metres away, I pulled on the handbrake and slammed my feet down on the brakes and skid. My car pulls to the side fishtailing as I finish in an empty paddock, the weak wire fence breaking at the force of my car. Smoke rises off the road, the smell of burnt rubber on the bitumen mixing with dry grass. I slump in the drivers’ seat and let my head fall onto the steering wheel. The horn is blaring.

Today was different. I tried. But like every day, I failed. I’m still here, in a world, surrounded by people, but alone.