Dissociative
Back From The...Hangover?
I sure don't hope I have to take another full sick day off from work. I don't feel well again, like I commonly don't on Mondays. I wake up with a stale taste in my mouth, like beer, actually, and I'm panty-less beneath my skirt. I don't know what keeps happening to me! To tell you the truth, I don't remember any of the weekend after walking to my boyfriend's house and saying hello. Oh well, I might I have a memory loss disorder. I'll have to remember to look that up, later.
I walk into the kitchen to see my answering machine flashing. I have 12 new messages. All 12 are from my boyfriend. With an already angry tone in his voice, I listen as every one of the messages increases in exasperation. I shy away from the sour words seeping through the phone, all that anger exploding into my ear. He's making no sense. Talking about how I hit him, and broke his nose and ribs, bruised him all over. How I wasn't fulfilling my roles as a women and whatnot, and what did he ever do to me? My boyfriend is a good man, and he'd never hit me or hurt me for gross anger. He's only making me stronger by enduring all this physical pain. Not very many women can smile with a blow to the ribs, now can she? But I would never fight back. Oh no! Not me! That isn't a women's duty. So why isn't he making sense?
Before I have time to think another thought, it sounds like someone is trying to beat down my door. Oh gosh, what could I have done? I rush to the door, while running a comb through my hair and look out through the little peep hole. The sight itself makes me week in the knees. There he is, looming so far above my line of sight, red-faced and growling. I turn away and lean my back up against the door. I inhale deeply and wonder if I should open the door. I decided I need to get to work without this early morning confrontation, so I slither away to my room and lay out my clothes. I sit on my bed and listen as his screaming comes to a crescendo, and finally a denouement. I'll only be an hour late to work, thank goodness. I quickly shower and pull on a skirt and blouse, and head to the door. With shaking hands, I open the door and walk out into the rush hour.
I walk into the kitchen to see my answering machine flashing. I have 12 new messages. All 12 are from my boyfriend. With an already angry tone in his voice, I listen as every one of the messages increases in exasperation. I shy away from the sour words seeping through the phone, all that anger exploding into my ear. He's making no sense. Talking about how I hit him, and broke his nose and ribs, bruised him all over. How I wasn't fulfilling my roles as a women and whatnot, and what did he ever do to me? My boyfriend is a good man, and he'd never hit me or hurt me for gross anger. He's only making me stronger by enduring all this physical pain. Not very many women can smile with a blow to the ribs, now can she? But I would never fight back. Oh no! Not me! That isn't a women's duty. So why isn't he making sense?
Before I have time to think another thought, it sounds like someone is trying to beat down my door. Oh gosh, what could I have done? I rush to the door, while running a comb through my hair and look out through the little peep hole. The sight itself makes me week in the knees. There he is, looming so far above my line of sight, red-faced and growling. I turn away and lean my back up against the door. I inhale deeply and wonder if I should open the door. I decided I need to get to work without this early morning confrontation, so I slither away to my room and lay out my clothes. I sit on my bed and listen as his screaming comes to a crescendo, and finally a denouement. I'll only be an hour late to work, thank goodness. I quickly shower and pull on a skirt and blouse, and head to the door. With shaking hands, I open the door and walk out into the rush hour.
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:] Not too much to say. Comments?