Self Care
*
Hate is a fire that burns all.
Robert spent the entire day at his friend Rufus’s house. He texted, I’ll be back later; I just need a break.
I gave him the space he needed.
I didn’t text or bother him, even when our banking app dinged seven times that they were at the mall, obviously buying things that we had not budgeted for.
It was fine. Robert was an adult. We’d discuss it later.
I entered the office and turned on the light over my art table.
All of my Briannas were stacked on the table, and I studied them. I’d canceled and rescheduled the last three appointments with Paige.
First, I needed more time to get this done since my birthday. Then, Robert’s class was canceled, and we went to see a movie. Another excuse was that my mother was in the hospital.
I know I needed to message her a date and time. She had sent me an email with six options this morning.
I scowled at the paintings.
I did the fucking work.
I tried to communicate. I was vulnerable. Now my husband was gone, angry at me, and for what?
“I don’t feel any fucking better,” I muttered, pulling out sketch paper as I let my drawing pencils take over.
The graphite hit the page, flakes of it falling like ash. I took a deep breath as the lines formed on the paper, taking shape.
I started talking aloud—the closest thing to therapy I’d had in a month.
“I don’t know why this is so hard.”
I dragged the pencil back and moved in a jagged manner.
“I hate my mother. She doesn’t even like me. So, why am I so bothered by all of this?”
I put the pencil down and reached into the box for a heavier weight, watching the lines grow thicker and darker with each stroke.
“It’s not like she’ll tell me she’s sorry. I don’t think she believes she’s ever done anything wrong.”
I drew a curve on the paper, leaning forward as tears formed in my eyes. I hated this.
I hated Maggie for her years of tobacco, weight gain, drinking, and estrogen peaks that continuously increased her risk of cancer.
I hated Dickey for allowing Maggie to do as she pleased, regardless of the harm it caused everyone.
I hated Jason, Jean, and Louisa for their varying levels of drama, which derailed every family interaction into a shame spiral.
I hated Matt for leaving me, marrying someone from a wealthier background, and starting a life where he could walk away from all this.
I hated Robert for being present. It was like I’d rowed us out into the middle of a lake, and he couldn’t swim. I’d offered to let him out multiple times, but he’d refused.
Now, his only option was to jump out and die or stay and look at me like that.
I looked at the sketch I was working on. It was simple. It showed my mother’s hands holding a cup. She grasped it in both hands to keep it stable. Her usually warm, freckled skin was pale and bruised, with liver spots beginning to appear. Her nails, once long and healthy, were broken and brittle.
I looked down at my own hands, finding my nails the same. I huffed a laugh.
The silence in the room was unbearable.
I’d made them look like this.
It wasn’t cancer.
It wasn’t me wasting away.
It was me. Me picking at paint chips. Me chewing on my nails and refusing to just lotion my damn skin.
I lay my head against the desk, realizing that hating everyone else wouldn’t change anything.
Especially when I hated myself most of all.
I sat like that for nearly an hour. I hesitated, then stood up. My fingers were shaking as I wiped away my tears. Ilooked at my hands, finding them covered in graphite streaks. I looked down at the paper and saw the drawing smudged and wavy from tears.
This was always supposed to happen. This wasn’t art to keep. It was meant to be destroyed so I could move on.
My feet carried me to the computer before I could change my mind. I was terrified it wouldn’t change anything, but I sent it anyway.
To : [email protected]
Re: Reschedule Appointment
Hey Paige,
I’m sorry I vanished for a bit.
I’ll be good for an appointment on May 12th at 6 p.m. Let me know if there’s still room for me.
- Bree