Ohgodohfuckohgodohfuck
Last night... not pretty. There was crying and begging and I almost caved, but I need to do this. I've fucking destroyed her though and I hate myself for that. She was saying that she should leave because it's my house and all this fucking rubbish. I tried to explain that I wasn't leaving for good, but she was just crying too hard. She followed me around the house like a lost child pleading with me while I was packing.
I still don't know if she expected me to go or if she thought it was just grandstanding. I tried to talk about what I was feeling, but every time I said something, she'd just say, "No, that's not the reason, you were ok with that. Why are you doing this to me?" Broke my fucking heart. But I can't stay.
Got an early bus this morning while she was still asleep (she slept on the couch and I slept on the futon because neither of us would take the bed). I tucked the little cuddly Anthrax into her arms before I left and kissed her forehead.
My mum is making me food and telling me all the news about "Our Brian and Our Karen and their babbies" and I'm sitting at the kitchen table with my dad's laptop. I've cried a bit. A lot. Mum showed me a picture of the two of us when we were fourteen, in our school uniforms, glaring into the camera. It's on the mantlepiece. I burst into tears and she just hugged me so tight I could barely breathe and stroked my hair. She asked if we'd had an argument and I cried more.
I still don't know if she expected me to go or if she thought it was just grandstanding. I tried to talk about what I was feeling, but every time I said something, she'd just say, "No, that's not the reason, you were ok with that. Why are you doing this to me?" Broke my fucking heart. But I can't stay.
Got an early bus this morning while she was still asleep (she slept on the couch and I slept on the futon because neither of us would take the bed). I tucked the little cuddly Anthrax into her arms before I left and kissed her forehead.
My mum is making me food and telling me all the news about "Our Brian and Our Karen and their babbies" and I'm sitting at the kitchen table with my dad's laptop. I've cried a bit. A lot. Mum showed me a picture of the two of us when we were fourteen, in our school uniforms, glaring into the camera. It's on the mantlepiece. I burst into tears and she just hugged me so tight I could barely breathe and stroked my hair. She asked if we'd had an argument and I cried more.