Seeing the Union Jack flying at half-mast atop the church, again, for the second time in two months.
Waiting months and years for appointments only to be told by all these “experts” and “professionals” and “specialists” and every other person who promised to help me that I am “beyond help” and that there’s “nothing we can do.”
“Oh my God, The Handmaid’s Tale is so fucking good, it’s so scary and messed up!”
“Yeah, Atwood is a genius. I wasn’t a fan of The Heart Goes Last though, I got bored and didn’t finish–”
“Wait, what? Which one’s Atwood? Is she one of the Aunts? Which episode are you on?!”
My Dad not texting me back.
Empty photo frames.
A punnet of cherries costing £1 more than they did this time last year.
A packet of cigarettes costing £2 more than they did this time last year.
People telling me that I’m not alone. Of course I’m alone, what a stupid thing to say.
Every launderette within a 10-mile radius closing at 8pm.
Unplanned overdraft fees. THE REASON THAT I’M IN MY FUCKING OVERDRAFT IS BECAUSE I HAVE NO MONEY, WHY ARE YOU CHARGING ME £28 FOR OVERSPENDING 17p WHICH YOU FUCKING OVERDREW BECAUSE YOU WERE CHARGING ME £28 FOR LAST MONTH’S UNPLANNED OVERDRAFT FEE, AND SO IT FUCKING GOES, ON AND ON AND ON,
Taking 25mg + 25 mg + 100mg of Q before bed because the manufacturer has discontinued production of the 150mg tablet.
Dust. Everywhere: dust.
Not being able to wear short sleeves again for while.
My Dad still being dead.
Me in general, but more specifically:
Me throwing a pity party for myself while there are so many awful things happening around the world.
But every second that I am alive awful things are happening to my head, to my body, to my soul. I am not afraid of Hell because I am in it. Hell is not other people; Hell is me; Hell is Now; Hell is This.