eclecticmuses- Madness quote
"No amount of love can cure madness or unblacken one's dark moods. Love can help, it can make the pain more tolerable. Madness, on the other hand, most certainly can, and often does, kill love through its mistrustfullness, unrelenting pessimism, discontents, erratic behavior, and, especially, its savage moods." -From An Unquiet Mind, Kay Redfield Jamison
Theresa you are being ridiculous. Stop it.
She was not allowed to be this upset. He wasn’t her boyfriend, he wasn’t her brother. She had no ties to him that would make this kind of reaction acceptable. She was not entitled to do this.
Jean-Paul is moving to Montreal. Part time. She had to always amend the statement. Because the amendment is what made her reaction unreasonable. Jean-Paul kept insisting he would only be there a few nights a week if that, and nothing would change. Jean-Paul didn’t lie to her, not about the important stuff. And more importantly, he didn’t lie to his boyfriends, or his sister. The important people that this was really affecting.
Theresa was doing what she always did now when she got the urge to drink. She was walking. It was really not the smartest thing to do at night, but she didn’t have any other choice. It was that or sit in her apartment and tear her hair out. She walked with her arms wrapped around herself like she was in real physical pain, and two people had already stopped her to ask if she was alright. She just shrugged wordlessly at them and kept moving.
She wanted a drink so bad. It was all she could think about. That and how different things would be with Jean-Paul living in another country. Part time. Fuck.
She knew this was going to happen. She’d been bracing herself for it. He’d been dropping hints, and then that whole political argument. She hated politics. She didn’t even want to vote anymore. She wanted it all to go away. Go home to Ireland and visit Sally for a little bit and everyone else could just fuck off. Jean-Paul could leave, and so could she. She at least had a place to go.
Her eyes were burning and she squeezed them shut. She was not going to cry. She was sick of crying. Sick of all of this. Sick of people. She just wanted a drink. She was supposed to call Janine if she felt like this. That’s why she had a sponsor in the first place. But she didn’t want to talk to her. She didn’t want to talk to anyone.
Work tomorrow was going to suck. She was horrible at hiding things from Jean-Paul. She didn’t want to hide how she felt from him. Especially after encouraging John to be honest. Great, now she was a hypocrite too. Fucking useless.
There was a liquor store a little farther down the street. It would be open. She had a new fake ID in her wallet. Just in case.
Just once. It wasn’t going to be a big thing. It just hurt so much, and she just wanted to make it go away.
Don’t cause him more problems. She told herself. He’s stressed enough right now. Let him deal with the people who really matter. Don’t make this harder on him. Don’t.
Fuck him for doing this in the first place.
He needs to do what’s best for him. This is what he needs to do, and don’t you dare try to stop him from doing that. You’re not allowed to do that.
She kicked a trashcan because it made her feel better. She pressed her hand over her mouth and bit down her scream, releasing it silently into the pain in her palm. She left teeth marks. She couldn’t drink. She couldn’t scream. What the fuck was she supposed to do? Walk around in a bad neighborhood at night and wait to be jumped so that she could pop the guy in the face and take out all her aggression on him? That sounded almost worth it.
They were all going to leave. It was inevitable. They were either going to die or move, and she’d just be sitting there in her stupid office, all by herself. Why couldn’t she be the one to leave for a change? She was tired of being the one left behind.
Stop it. You’re not being fair.
But she wasn’t lying, either.
After another 20 minutes of wandering aimlessly, she decided she must look too pissed off for anyone to try bothering her, so she stopped at a drugstore, bought some sleeping pills, and went home. She hurried into her room before Willard could see her, and locked the door. Tripod was sleeping in his doggy bed and didn’t wake.
She took the sleeping pills and laid staring at the ceiling until they took effect. Maybe she could just sleep through tomorrow.
Theresa you are being ridiculous. Stop it.
She was not allowed to be this upset. He wasn’t her boyfriend, he wasn’t her brother. She had no ties to him that would make this kind of reaction acceptable. She was not entitled to do this.
Jean-Paul is moving to Montreal. Part time. She had to always amend the statement. Because the amendment is what made her reaction unreasonable. Jean-Paul kept insisting he would only be there a few nights a week if that, and nothing would change. Jean-Paul didn’t lie to her, not about the important stuff. And more importantly, he didn’t lie to his boyfriends, or his sister. The important people that this was really affecting.
Theresa was doing what she always did now when she got the urge to drink. She was walking. It was really not the smartest thing to do at night, but she didn’t have any other choice. It was that or sit in her apartment and tear her hair out. She walked with her arms wrapped around herself like she was in real physical pain, and two people had already stopped her to ask if she was alright. She just shrugged wordlessly at them and kept moving.
She wanted a drink so bad. It was all she could think about. That and how different things would be with Jean-Paul living in another country. Part time. Fuck.
She knew this was going to happen. She’d been bracing herself for it. He’d been dropping hints, and then that whole political argument. She hated politics. She didn’t even want to vote anymore. She wanted it all to go away. Go home to Ireland and visit Sally for a little bit and everyone else could just fuck off. Jean-Paul could leave, and so could she. She at least had a place to go.
Her eyes were burning and she squeezed them shut. She was not going to cry. She was sick of crying. Sick of all of this. Sick of people. She just wanted a drink. She was supposed to call Janine if she felt like this. That’s why she had a sponsor in the first place. But she didn’t want to talk to her. She didn’t want to talk to anyone.
Work tomorrow was going to suck. She was horrible at hiding things from Jean-Paul. She didn’t want to hide how she felt from him. Especially after encouraging John to be honest. Great, now she was a hypocrite too. Fucking useless.
There was a liquor store a little farther down the street. It would be open. She had a new fake ID in her wallet. Just in case.
Just once. It wasn’t going to be a big thing. It just hurt so much, and she just wanted to make it go away.
Don’t cause him more problems. She told herself. He’s stressed enough right now. Let him deal with the people who really matter. Don’t make this harder on him. Don’t.
Fuck him for doing this in the first place.
He needs to do what’s best for him. This is what he needs to do, and don’t you dare try to stop him from doing that. You’re not allowed to do that.
She kicked a trashcan because it made her feel better. She pressed her hand over her mouth and bit down her scream, releasing it silently into the pain in her palm. She left teeth marks. She couldn’t drink. She couldn’t scream. What the fuck was she supposed to do? Walk around in a bad neighborhood at night and wait to be jumped so that she could pop the guy in the face and take out all her aggression on him? That sounded almost worth it.
They were all going to leave. It was inevitable. They were either going to die or move, and she’d just be sitting there in her stupid office, all by herself. Why couldn’t she be the one to leave for a change? She was tired of being the one left behind.
Stop it. You’re not being fair.
But she wasn’t lying, either.
After another 20 minutes of wandering aimlessly, she decided she must look too pissed off for anyone to try bothering her, so she stopped at a drugstore, bought some sleeping pills, and went home. She hurried into her room before Willard could see her, and locked the door. Tripod was sleeping in his doggy bed and didn’t wake.
She took the sleeping pills and laid staring at the ceiling until they took effect. Maybe she could just sleep through tomorrow.