It’s probably not right

to feel calmed by imagining something tightening around your neck, is it?

All I can think of is the peace of losing consciousness. The quiet, and the end of all the frustration and anxiety.

I don’t want to die but I just don’t want to exist like this anymore. I’m not cut out for this but I can’t walk away. I have no control over anything. I’m so tired and every muscle hurts from leaping up every five minutes to fix her laptop, or to stop her knocking over her drink, or to point at something on the TV as she tries to ask what’s wrong with that guy’s hair (he’s wearing a hat). She’s sat here groaning as her guts hurt and all I can think of is the darkness.

She’s just started flailing around “I’ve got to, it’s my, I’ve got to…” I don’t know! I run over and lower her seat for her – does she need the toilet? Has she got an itch? It’s obviously important. No, her arse has gone dead. My heart is racing and I slink back to the sofa, back to writing this.

And fade to black.

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It’s probably not right

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