"what's in your head, in your head, zombie, zombie"
[DISCLAIMER: I have to get this out of my head, somehow; for those who know the situation(s), I thank you for your understanding in all of this; those who don't, well, read on then; situation(s) fueling this are REAL but the manner in which this is presented here and now IS NOT--although it is rather likely]
"Hon?"
I hear the concern in the tone but I don't dare look up. Much as I know I should reply, I keep my mouth shut. It's the urge to scream at the top of my lungs--that sort of thing doesn't go over well most of the time. That and the tears. Crying makes me almost worthless for conversation. Did someone let Loki get into the main office and let him run wild or something? And now they won't fix it because there's more money to be made in prolonging the problem?, I wonder bitterly. Footsteps approach and then stop behind my chair.
"Sweetheart, are you remotely functional?" he tries.
"Possibly," I manage to choke out. His question makes me start to giggle through the anger and the tears, only to leave me feeling somewhat worse.
"What's wrong?"
I bite my lip. Should I try to speak? And if I do, will I be able to keep my tone from cracking into sobbing or yelling? It's worth a shot, I guess.
It comes out in nearly a single breath. "My family must be one of the lightning rods for dramatics and w-t-f's. There's a slew of issues surrounding the nephew, many of which have my blood pressure so high it would scare veteran nurses I'm sure. And then there's issues at the job that are only like the proverbial iceberg tip. And now I find that someone in my family that I was finally getting toward good terms with may not survive the month, thanks to Those Bastards throwing their dice and the practice of medicine and not knowing what's wrong,"
"Oh sweetie,"
I let myself fall back against him while he wraps his arms around me. Warmth is a real, tangible thing, resting over my shoulders and arms while he's there. Something I can actually feel with my skin. Something that's there, something human. It all wells up in my throat and it's even harder now to hold it back. With the agony of knowing comes the burn of stress and my body's reactions to it; I'm surprised I don't have an ulcer--or several of them--at this point. My chest shudders as I draw in another breath and I can't stop myself.
"It's NOT fair! Godsdamnit, I am so tired of this happening! Just when I think things are alright, something like this comes along and has to kick down the carefully laid bricks! Damnit, why me? WHY?"
He's silent, but I have a good idea of what he's thinking. And he's right. It happens every day to other people, and we just never hear about it. It's always worse when it's happening to us. I stressed for days not knowing if the nephew situation was going to turn out alright, and then it did, but only sort of. His breath is hot in my hair as he exhales, making the nerves along my arms and legs shiver for a moment.
"I know it's not fair," he says softly.
Moments of elation get crushed so easily by demons wielding hammers. You can put a lot of time and energy into being happy, and I've mastered that so well that I sometimes forget how easily I can pull the mask on before walking into work. But even that has a time limit, a breaking point. And I've reached mine. It's hours like this in which I am certain I understand, albeit on a rather naive level, what can drive people to drinking themselves away, what drives people to drugs and a whole host of other things.
"Yeah, it's not. But I can't keep this up anymore, can't ignore it, much as I try... What am I supposed to do?"
I hear the wry smile in his voice while feeling the warmth of his breath over my head again. "Same thing you've told me and everyone else. Put one foot in front of the other,"
"Hon?"
I hear the concern in the tone but I don't dare look up. Much as I know I should reply, I keep my mouth shut. It's the urge to scream at the top of my lungs--that sort of thing doesn't go over well most of the time. That and the tears. Crying makes me almost worthless for conversation. Did someone let Loki get into the main office and let him run wild or something? And now they won't fix it because there's more money to be made in prolonging the problem?, I wonder bitterly. Footsteps approach and then stop behind my chair.
"Sweetheart, are you remotely functional?" he tries.
"Possibly," I manage to choke out. His question makes me start to giggle through the anger and the tears, only to leave me feeling somewhat worse.
"What's wrong?"
I bite my lip. Should I try to speak? And if I do, will I be able to keep my tone from cracking into sobbing or yelling? It's worth a shot, I guess.
It comes out in nearly a single breath. "My family must be one of the lightning rods for dramatics and w-t-f's. There's a slew of issues surrounding the nephew, many of which have my blood pressure so high it would scare veteran nurses I'm sure. And then there's issues at the job that are only like the proverbial iceberg tip. And now I find that someone in my family that I was finally getting toward good terms with may not survive the month, thanks to Those Bastards throwing their dice and the practice of medicine and not knowing what's wrong,"
"Oh sweetie,"
I let myself fall back against him while he wraps his arms around me. Warmth is a real, tangible thing, resting over my shoulders and arms while he's there. Something I can actually feel with my skin. Something that's there, something human. It all wells up in my throat and it's even harder now to hold it back. With the agony of knowing comes the burn of stress and my body's reactions to it; I'm surprised I don't have an ulcer--or several of them--at this point. My chest shudders as I draw in another breath and I can't stop myself.
"It's NOT fair! Godsdamnit, I am so tired of this happening! Just when I think things are alright, something like this comes along and has to kick down the carefully laid bricks! Damnit, why me? WHY?"
He's silent, but I have a good idea of what he's thinking. And he's right. It happens every day to other people, and we just never hear about it. It's always worse when it's happening to us. I stressed for days not knowing if the nephew situation was going to turn out alright, and then it did, but only sort of. His breath is hot in my hair as he exhales, making the nerves along my arms and legs shiver for a moment.
"I know it's not fair," he says softly.
Moments of elation get crushed so easily by demons wielding hammers. You can put a lot of time and energy into being happy, and I've mastered that so well that I sometimes forget how easily I can pull the mask on before walking into work. But even that has a time limit, a breaking point. And I've reached mine. It's hours like this in which I am certain I understand, albeit on a rather naive level, what can drive people to drinking themselves away, what drives people to drugs and a whole host of other things.
"Yeah, it's not. But I can't keep this up anymore, can't ignore it, much as I try... What am I supposed to do?"
I hear the wry smile in his voice while feeling the warmth of his breath over my head again. "Same thing you've told me and everyone else. Put one foot in front of the other,"