"Dizzy in the head and I'm feeling bad
The things you've said have got me real mad
I'm gettin' funny dreams again and again
I know what it means but
Can't explain"
***
I managed to escape Harry, high tailing it out of there with Gizmo in tow, that little bacon tart staring back at Harry like he was his long lost lover I was tearing him away from.
I find it infuriating how sure of himself Harry is, I can't relate to it what so ever, I question everything about myself - but that god damn smirk and the way he found my dismissal of his demand I go out with him tonight so entertaining is making me want to pull my hair out.
Actually, it's making me want to pull his hair out and shove it up his ass.
Maybe I'm so irritated because he gets under my skin, I want to be nonchalant and dismissive, not sparing a thought on him but since I met him that smirky idiot is all I've thought about.
I'm noticing the persistence in Frankie is definitely genetic, unfortunately it seems his cousin has even more than he does.
I don't understand what his preoccupation is with me, aside from the chase of it all, but even then - chase what? I'm nothing to catch.
I've wasted too much time thinking about this, but it killed time waiting in the reception area that I'm so familiar with now.
I sometimes wonder about the other people sat in the waiting room at the psychologist office, wonder about what lead them to coming here - what their reasons are.
It's not in a prying way, just more curiosity. I tend to wonder about people too much, try and figure them out - analyze them.
I'm far too observant for my own good, a lot of the time I wish I could walk around blissfully ignorant and not notice the smallest mannerisms in someone's body language, a change of inflection in their voice and read a million things from it.
It gets exhausting, always being so hyper aware all the time, always vigilant about how another person that you're interacting with is feeling, noticing the smallest nuances so you can react appropriately.
I think that's another reason I like dogs, for the most part they're simple.
It's not like with people where they can have a smile on their face but the inflection in their voice can show that they're anything but, and you have to figure out why they're smiling but sound upset.
Sometimes it's what people don't say that screams louder than anything else, their silence can be deafening when it leaves your mind to wonder a thousand miles an hour to try and decipher what their silence is saying because they simply won't tell you.
I think, I think too much.
When I finally get into the office, sat on the same cream couch I've sat on for an hour once a month for three years now, looking at those warm hazel eyes behind her dainty framed glasses; I twiddle my thumbs in my lap, wondering what shit show my brain is going to go through for the next hour.
"How are you today Drew?" Mel asks, tilting her head with a friendly smile, that soothing soft tone to her voice filling the room.
I swear she could talk an insomniac to sleep, and I mean that as a compliment - she just has a very comforting voice.
"I didn't try to stick my head in my oven and turn it on, so I'd say I'm going alright" I say, keeping my tone dry but still sounding genuine; giving Mel a double thumbs up.
Mel chuckles, completely use to my sense of humour now and how dark it gets, but in some weird way it helps especially in these appointments.
Sometimes you just have to laugh at your own pain, find humour in suffering.
"Well I'm glad today has gone well enough for you to not do that" she says, lifting her brows.
"Oh, not from lack of trying, just resources" I say shaking my head, waving her off with my hand and then shrug raising my brows "My oven is actually broken, shit itself today - just my luck right?"
Mel shakes her head, folding her hands in her lap smiling at me "So, I'm judging by the humour and what you've just said, things haven't been that good this month"
Read me like a book this woman can, it's like she spent years studying psychology and human behaviour or something. How bizarre.
"When are they ever good? A good day? Never met her. Who is she?" I reply, holding my hands up and looking around the room as if I'm looking for someone.
"How's things with mum?" Mel asks, seeing straight through my deflections as usual.
I shrug my shoulders, feeling numb about the whole thing or at least that's the way I have to be, it's like I'm on auto pilot these days.
"They're the same. She's just as much of a joy to be around as usual"
"Have you thought more about what we discussed in your last appointment?" she asks, keeping her demeanor calm and friendly.
"About her being a sociopath? Yeah I did. I researched it - you know how I am, it's pretty dead on. Just another thing to add to the laundry list of shit that's wrong with her" I say sounding emotionless about the whole thing, keeping it factual like I usually do.
"How do you feel about that? Now that you know that about her?" she asks.
"I don't. I don't feel anything about it. Just explains a lot." I dismiss, not really feeling like tapping into emotions I can't cope with and feeling like my brain is being boiled alive when I open those doors.
Mel gives me a disbelieving look, calling bullshit straight away "Come on Drew, you and I both know you feel everything, you're just fantastic at hiding it. That's why having the mother you've had has been so traumatic for you, among other things you've been put through. Now just try for me, just tell me the first feeling that comes to mind"
I giver her a mock annoyed glare, sighing and slumping my shoulders.
"Probably relief" I say, just being honest about the first thing that comes to mind.
"Relief? Why that feeling?" she asks, keeping her attention focused on me.
I lift and drop my shoulders, shaking my head with lazy eyes "I dunno, because that means she doesn't love me because she can't, she's not capable of it - not because there's something wrong with me."
"Do you really believe that though? That the way your mother treats you isn't because there's something wrong with you?" Mel pushes, but still keeps her voice gentle.
I feel the faintest crack in the sheild I keep up from that question, my composure faltering and I clear my throat, looking around the room at Mels framed certificates on the walls, and random bits of artwork.
"Can we talk about something else?" I ask, smoothing my hands down the jeans on my thighs.
"You feel uncomfortable" Mel states, but it's just in an understanding manner "We can talk about something else, but before we do, that discomfort you have - that feeling, can you show me where it's sitting in your body? Where you feel it?"
I point to the base of my throat, then tap the area, feeling like I have a rock lodged there.
"It's there"
Mel just nods, folding her hands in her lap "It's almost been a year, since you had your incident, have you thought about that at all? Are you still keeping your journal?"
I throw my hands up, looking at her with an incredulous expression "What is with you today? Are you just trying to kick me right in the feelings?"
Mel chuckles, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose with her pointer finger where they had slipped down "Getting to your feelings is kind of my job Drew, even though you make it extremely challenging with that emotional avoidance of yours"
"Kinda like trying to dig a hole in cement with a plastic spoon hey?" I say, lifting my brows to emphasise how accurate it is.
Mel grins, then purses her lips as she nods in agreement "Your analogies are always spot on"
"Because they're true" I point out, leaning back against the couch "And I have been, by the way - keeping up with my journal. Write in it everyday"
"Still the same word? Anything new?" she asks, glancing to the clock on her table.
She's very good at doing it inconspicuously, but I wonder if she ever knows that I notice her doing it. Keeping a check on the time of the appointment, it's very subtle the way she does it but I notice every time she does do it and have done so since I started seeing her.
It can kind of ruin the charade of it all sometimes, when she's trained to seem totally invested in what you're saying and connecting with you personally, when you're say - oh I dunno, having an emotional meltdown.
When you notice someone checking the clock, knowing their window of caring has a time limit - it's hard to feel connected and sometimes it just feels like you're burdening them, trying to keep your emotional fucking mess on a time restraint so you don't screw up their schedule.
I don't like being rude, so there's a lot of appointments I just purposely close off, keep things in so that I don't make her run over time.
I really wish I didn't notice all the small details, it just seems to make everything more complicated.
"Actually..." I trail off, bringing my hand up to mess through my hair and pull my lips to the side wondering if I should even mention it.
I know she's going to ask me about it, try and figure out what it means and I don't know if I can deal with that because not even I know what it means.
"The past two days, I wrote something new" I tell her, watching her brows shoot up in surprise. "First time since I started it I didn't write Gizmo"
Before Mel can respond, I say something else to distract her, not ready to figure out what this shit with my journal means.
"That woman is back" I tell her, and her face drops into a sympathetic expression "The one in my nightmares, she's back again"
~•~
I know I should be savouring this time that mum is away, however, I'm sat on the couch twiddling my thumbs over what to do.
This has been what it's been like since I got home from my psychology appointment.
I'm trying to relax, but trying to relax is stressing me out because I don't know how to relax.
I spent a good hour just walking around the house aimlessly, figuring out what to do.
I never use to be this bad, it's gotten worse over the last 24 months, and the last 12 in particular. I almost don't know what to do with my day when it doesn't involve only existing to cater to someone else, I've forgotten what it's like to wake up and just do what I feel like doing.
What do I even feel like doing any more?
I don't even remember the things I use to enjoy. My passions seem like complete strangers, a lover I once had that has now turned into someone I feel like I've never even met.
I just feel nothing.
Three loud knocks at my front door grab my attention, and I look towards it, staring at it like it just spoke German.
Another two knocks have me certain I'm not hearing things and I glare at it with suspicious squinted eyes as I stand from the couch and walk towards it.
Who the hell is at my house? It's almost 7, I swear if it's another sales person trying to sell me a vacuum I'm going to ram it so far down their throat they'll be able to hoover their own kidneys dry.
I grab the door handle, waiting for a moment to settle my apprehension and turn the knob, pulling the door open and as soon as those green eyes hit mine, I'm slamming the door closed faster than a speeding bullet.
Unfortunately, because the universe hates me and this asshole apparently has cat like reflexes, he catches the door before it slams, pressing his palm flat against it to keep it from locking shut.
I step back as he pushes the door open, standing in the doorway to lean a casual shoulder against the frame and I clench my fists at my sides; staring at him bewildered and fucking irritated.
I take what I said back, I do feel something - homicidal.
"You always answer your door like that?" Harry asks, pushing his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket that's decorated with various patches, pins and studded spikes along the shoulders and collar.
I glance at the rest of his outfit, a loose distressed white band shirt and black torn up skinny jeans; complimented with a pair of scuffed up vans shoes that have definitely seen better days.
Why is there a curly haired member of the Sex Pistols at my door?
"What are you doing here?" I ask, keeping my voice blunt and fold my arms over my chest.
Harry tilts his head, running his eyes over my figure and purses his lips "We had plans for 7, and it's now 7"
I scrunch my face up, throwing my hands out at my sides in disbelief "Did your mother punt you against a wall as a baby? Or are you literally that dense? What part of I'm not going out with you sounded like 'Come to my house'?"
Harry lifts his brows, scroffing out a laugh through his nose with a wide grin "I bet your dates have a real blast picking you up, you always this much of a sweet talker?"
I squint at him, blinking and wondering why he is still here or still talking "I don't go on dates"
"I never would have noticed" he deadpans, wetting his lips and relaxing against the doorway; showing he has no intention of leaving.
I resist the urge to salute him with my middle finger, instead gesture towards the doorway "Well, listen smirky, for the hundredth time - I'm not going on a date with you, sorry to disappoint you - so you can leave now"
"It's not a date" he says, completely ignoring everything else I just said. "We're just hanging out"
Only hanging I'd be doing with you would involve me, a noose and a tree branch, and I'd much prefer that to going any where with this dickhead.
"I don't care if we were spending time together to cure cancer - not happening" I dismiss, pointing firmly and raising my brows to prove my point.
"You sure about that?" he asks, looking pleased with himself.
He pulls his hand from his pocket, holding a small ceramic ornament of a pink pig on a string, with two gold angel wings.
Harry turns the ornament in his hand, inspecting it, then dangles it by the string in front of him and looks to me with that damn dimple pulling into his cheek "If I remember correctly, you said unless I saw a pig with wings, we weren't going out. Amazing what trinkets you can find at a dollar store"
I stare at the little pink pig, even complimented with a halo; trying with everything in me not to burst out laughing.
That cocky fucking bastard literally went and bought a pig with wings.
I refuse to laugh at this, I'm too stubborn and I'm even more irritated that I actually find it funny and slightly... Slightly endearing.
I scrunch my lips, fighting a smile and trying to hold my annoyed composure and he flicks his eyes from the pig back to me "So, unless you wanna get changed - you ready to go?"
I chew on the inside of my cheek, glaring at the pig and hate that, that bullshit ceramic boar is wavering my resolve with this man. I swear even the damn pig is smirking at me.
"You're really trying to blackmail me with a pig right now aren't you?" I say, shaking my head still trying to get over the fact he actually went and did that.
I'm trying to make sense in my head of why it's getting under my skin.
Harry clicks his tongue, tutting me "This isn't blackmail, you made up the rules sweetheart not me - I'm just playing by them."
"You aren't dropping this are you?" I ask, honestly considering just getting this over with so he can see once and for all that I am not the person he wants to be spending time with.
I can't explain why I'm even considering this.
He's really only shooting himself in the foot with this, what ever idea he has of who he thinks I am in his head, is sorely fucking mistaken.
If he actually knew me, he would not want to be spending time with me.
"Clever girl" he nods with a smug lift of his chin.
For fuck sake.
I huff, bringing my hand up to pinch the bridge of my nose and scrunch my eyes closed, muttering to myself "Fine. I can't believe I'm fucking agreeing to this over a damn ornament - I can already tell I'm going to regret this"
"Don't judge the night before its even began love" Harry grins, looking triumphant and he shoves the pig back in his pocket; bringing his hand up to mess through his untamed hair and pushing away from his face.
"You never know, you might even have fun"
***