Previously on “Nodus Tollens”

Solo trip, hopeful epiphanies and devastating clarity

24th April

I haven’t journaled in a week. Haven’t done much of anything. Barely even showered. Gross. I know. Becoming one with my bed. It’s getting pretty sore, actually. I’ve given myself nerve damage or something. Dragged myself out for a walk yesterday and had pain shooting all through my body. Thought I was going to pass out. Very intense.

Not thriving. Barely surviving.

It’s taking everything I have not to call him. So much I want to talk to him about. So much to tell him. Random shit. New flavours of our favourite snacks. Celebrity gossip. The drama with my old boss in New York. She keeps asking me to send over my access card, but I threw it in the bin. Don’t know what to do. Her emails are getting snippier by the day. I think I’ll lie. Tell her I’ve sent it. Pretend it got lost in the mail. Maybe block her email? Want his advice. He knows how much I struggled with her.

We’ve spoken only once. Yesterday. Didn’t get into any of that. He just called to tell me he’s pushed back his flight. By four days. Hasn’t packed yet. Sometimes I worry he won’t actually come home. Get all these visions of him staying to be with her. Quite torturous that they’re in the same city. So far away.

I’m overthinking. Rethinking. Everything. Looking back over our lives through a cloud of suspicion. Every moment, every memory, every comment, every look he gave. Every night out he ever went on. Analysing all his friendships. Worried he’s been doing this the whole time.

Like the life I was living wasn’t real. Like we were writing completely different stories. While I was scrawling some fanciful fairytale, he was writing some horror show about a stranger living a twisted double life. But that can’t be true. It just isn’t possible.

Right?

The thoughts won’t stop. They’re racing, in frantic loops, through the obstacle course in my mind. Stumbling over the same hurdles every time. Exhausted but still running. Like, there’s a drill sergeant up there instructing them to keep going until they find an explanation that makes sense.

Also, I’m starting to feel bad about how I left. Just disappeared. One day to the next. It sounds awful, what he’s going through. Our apartment is getting emptier by the day. Like a ghost town now, with only a single camping chair left. And a mouse. It scurried across the floor while Shane was moving furniture, then disappeared under the oven. Hasn’t reemerged since. Very unsettling.

At least he isn’t totally alone. Made that joke to Shane. He did not appreciate it.

The guilt is hard to talk about. People are so quick to dismiss it. Say he made his bed. His problem. They don’t want me to blame myself. But. I don’t know. Maybe it is my fault. At least partially.

He said I was pushing him away. Becoming distant. There could be some truth to that. I was so tired. All the time. I had nothing to give. Not a drop of energy left for myself at the end of the day. Let alone for him. I’m not saying what he did was okay. But I am worried about him. It doesn’t make me happy. Seeing him struggle. Still angry at him. I think. Really miss him.

I’m confused. Need to find a therapist. Haven’t done that yet. I’ll do it soon. After Phoebe’s visit. She’s arriving tomorrow. Very exciting. Told her I hadn’t gotten out of bed in a week. She texted me five minutes later that she’d booked a flight.

Can’t wait. Gives me an excuse to shower. Maybe even change these sheets.

1st May

Another week. My journal habit is faltering. I’ve been busy. Busy levelling up.

Phoebe reminded me of how I used to read the last page of a book before I finished it. Or how, even now, I look for spoilers online when watching a TV show. Can’t take the not knowing. Not one for suspense. Need assurance that it will all work out. Anxiety, probably. Feel the same about life. Want to skip through it, beeline for the end. Rest easy knowing everything will be okay.

This uncertainty is death by a thousand cuts.

She told me to stop worrying about what’s going to happen with him. Or with us. To rewrite my own narrative. Focus on becoming the person I want to be. Romantisise it.

So that’s what we did. Phoebe made it fun. Like creating a character in a video game. But it’s me. New and improved.

Started with my hair. Got bangs. Terrifying. But felt like something I had to do. A rite of passage after a big life change. Stripped out the highlights, back to brunette. But a nicer brunette than my natural colour. Like deeper. Richer. Chocolatier. That sounds pretentious, but that’s what it’s called. Chocolate something. I think. Can’t remember what we settled on. We were there for hours, holding hair samples up to my face. Who knew there were so many different shades of brown?

Bought new clothes. Spent way too much money for someone currently without income. Necessary though. Realised how much my style was curated with Shane in mind. Not because he made me. Just what happens when you’re together for so long. Your partner sneaks into every decision you make. Becomes a habit. Don’t even notice it forming. Nothing wrong with it. I think.

Phoebe was calling it my “Single Girl Drip”. Which I hate. So very much. For so very many reasons. Embarrassing, firstly. We’re in our 30s. Also, don’t really feel single just yet. Or, I’m not single. Just yet. Undefined right now. “It’s complicated” has never felt more fitting.

Got a new tattoo as well. Massive butterfly on my arm. Rebirth. Transformation and all that. Also, finally got my lip pierced. Figured it was the perfect time for it. Won’t be kissing anyone anytime soon. Good for healing. The piercing, I mean. And my soul.

I love it, I love it all.

My parents, not so much. I think by the end of Phoebe’s visit, they had an aspirin at the ready every time we walked through the door. Bracing for the newest alterations. Didn’t say anything. They were being sweet about it, but I’ve never seen a more plastered-on pair of smiles. The house shook with the sigh of relief they breathed when Phoebe left.

I feel the new me coming closer. She’s waiting, resting just slightly out of reach, for me to step into her.

I see it in my reflection. A difference. Beyond the external changes. Can’t pinpoint exactly what it is. Stared at myself for ten very obsessive minutes this morning, trying to figure it out. Just don’t quite recognise the woman staring back at me. Not in a bad way. I look exhausted, obviously. But aside from that. I don’t know. Like, I look a bit more like myself or something. Like my old self. Or my real self. Or my new self?

This is hard to explain. I may just be delusional. Very possible. Very probable.

Still feel untethered, but less scared about it. More motivated now. To take advantage of this forced standstill and figure out what’s even worth tethering myself to.

Haven’t stopped thinking about that job in Galway. Typed out about sixty different messages to Grainne, but sent none. Felt scared. That she’s forgotten me. Or didn’t mean it. Regretted offering me the job. Or I misunderstood. Don’t want to get my hopes up. She’ll have someone else sorted by the time I know what I’m doing with Shane. Best to just put it out of my head. It did seem a little too good to be true.

I’m so grateful for Phoebe. For all my friends. Don’t know how I’d get through this without them. If nothing else, this whole experience has taught me that. They are all I need. Just me and my gals. Against the world.

And a dog. I do want to get a dog. Not yet, but soon. I’m feeling a glimmer of hope breaking through the doom and gloom. I think.

It’s good. It’s all good. Very good, very healing. Still confused. But that’s okay.

3rd May

Shane leaves New York today. Have cycled through every single emotion. Multiple times. Now feel nothing at all. Prefer it this way.

Maybe I’ve hit my emotional quota for the year. Pure numbness from now on.

That would be nice.

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Coming up this week on the Woman’s Gaze…

New story on Friday, 29th May.

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Previously on “Nodus Tollens”

Exposure therapy. Well-meaning advice. Nightmares. Nothing is working. Stuck in limbo. Longing for a way out.

12th April

Had a massive fight with Shane this morning. I can’t take his wallowing anymore. Neck deep in self-pity, he is. Spent forty minutes telling me how difficult this is for him. How hurt he is. That I don’t understand what it’s like, I can’t possibly understand how lonely he is.

Faint ringing in my ears got louder. More piercing. It bounced around my brain like a pinball machine until I snapped. Anger exploded out of me in a fumble of seething half-sentences. Don’t know if I made any sense. Told him to man up. Even though I really hate that phrase. I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stomach another word of the drivel that was trickling out of his mouth.

He seems to be more focused on throwing himself an endless pity party than on actually changing. Heaping more shit onto the ever-growing mountain of uncertainty. Trying to moan his way back into my heart. Whine his way into forgiveness. He has yet to give me a single reason to forgive him. Yet to burden himself with accountability. I don’t even know if he’s apologised. Can’t remember.

Highlight of the call was when some Jehovah’s Witnesses rang his doorbell. Handed him a card that read, “The day will soon come when we will never again say, 'I feel lonely.'” I’m not even joking. Freakishly on the nose. Timing so good it might just have made me believe in God. Do they have a God? I honestly know nothing about them. Shane becoming a Jehovah’s Witness would be a massive plot twist. Not ruling anything out, though. Can’t be shocked anymore.

I figured out why he’s acting like this. He thinks I’m going to take him back. That reconciliation is inevitable. That this divergence ends only with our paths coming back together. Just a minor speedbump. Something I need to get out of my system. A hissy fit.

Makes me feel powerless. That assumption. He’s taking away my choice. Because it is my choice. I decide where we go from here. Not him. Us getting back together is not inevitable. At this point, it’s not even likely. Getting less and less likely by the day.

I want him to change. I want this to work. But I’m losing faith in his ability to do so. To become a person worth staying married to. While I’m in Galway, I’m going to pretend we’re done. For good. Just to try it out. See how it feels to live life without him. A test run. Doesn’t mean anything.

13th April

I’m on the bus to Galway. The start of my big adventure. Woop.

Barely made it. Very chaotic. Forgot how bad I am at travelling alone. Not that Shane’s much better, but we usually balance each other out. Catch the balls that the other drops.

I got on the wrong bus. To Belfast instead. Don’t know how I managed that. Realised two stops in. Missed my actual bus. Started freaking out. A little. Was embarrassing. And unnecessary. The buses are constantly running. It’s not that far of a trip, really not a big deal. Just made me feel a bit useless. Like I can’t do anything on my own.

Had me thinking back on that camping trip we went on, when I realised that Shane would never let me do anything. Or, as soon as he’d see me struggling, he’d swoop in to take over. Remembered how I freaked out at him. Told him that I needed to be able to figure things out on my own. Suppose I got what I wanted. A little too literally.

Anyway. The bus people were very nice. Didn’t make me buy another ticket. Appreciated that. I feel like people, strangers, I mean, are being sweeter to me. Softer. More patient. Like they can sense it. My heartbreak. More likely, it’s because I look like I’m one missed bus away from a very humiliating public breakdown. Crazy eyes, or something.

It’s nice. The kindness, that is. Not the crazy eyes. Very nice. When you’re in survival mode, you cling to positive interactions like a lifeline. Everything feels more significant. More fleeting, more precious. You become fine-tuned to seeking out the spectacular in every banal exchange. Looking for it to dazzle you with a moment of beauty. Relief in it, I suppose. I hope I remember that even when the curtains have dropped on this shit show.

14th April

In Kinvara. Surreal to be here in my physical body. Serene and perfect. How I remember it. Untouched by time, unchanged by pain. I haven’t been here since I was eight, maybe? When we came to Cruinniú na mBád.

Sitting on the red bench, tasting the salty ocean in the breeze, it dawned on me that this is real. My actual, real life. That sounds stupid, because duh. I don’t know. It just really sunk in. Thought about how much has changed. And how quickly. Still expect to wake up beside him. Feel his arms around me. His chest, rising and falling against my back. Silent moments before we untangle ourselves from each other, and continue our lives together.

But I’m here. And that’s beautiful. Different, but also beautiful. Easier to forget my sadness here. To imagine that this is all leading somewhere. A part of some greater plan.

Went for a swim in the ocean after. Was fucking freezing. Regretted it immediately. Would have bailed, only there were people there. Watching. Weighed up my options. Walking back felt more shameful than taking the plunge. Felt great after. Some sort of lesson in that, I’m sure. Diving into the abyss. Facing your fear. Blabla. I’m becoming very sentimental. Sounding more like an Instagram caption by the day.

15th April

The scenery is really pretty. Wonderfully soothing. The landscape feels like it’s wrapping me up in a blanket. Rubbing my back as it assures me I’m going to be all right. I’m not sure that’s true. I mean, I am gonna be alright. Hopefully. Eventually. I just don’t know what the fuck I’m doing right now.

Went to the pub last night. Had to call Anna to coax me into it. Going to a pub alone feels weird. But I did it. It scared me, so I did it. It was fab. Good music. Good vibes. Spoke to two old ladies for most of the time. Then some young people. Or, people my age, I guess. A guy asked for my number. “I’m married” slipped out of my mouth before I could even remember that that’s maybe not quite technically true anymore. He didn’t believe me. Saw him glance at my naked finger. Didn’t get into it. Didn’t want to give him my number anyway. Not my type.

God. If Shane and I don’t get back together, I’ll have to date again. Lord help me. Can’t even imagine. That alone feels like enough of a reason to take him back.

No. Don’t think that. Not helpful.

Also. Something kind of cool happened. Spoke to a woman there, Grainne was her name. She runs a Dance Academy in Salthill. She kind of offered me a job. Said they need staff from September. Told her I used to be a dancer, told me they have a dance company as well. It’s a crazy notion. Moving to Galway. I can’t. But maybe? Her number, I did make sure to get. Said I’d be in touch. We’ll see. Can’t decide yet. Shane wouldn’t want to move out here.

But that might be irrelevant.

Something rather liberating about being around people who don’t know me. Don’t know Shane. They meet me as a whole person. Not half of “us”.

It does feel like I’m without my shadow. Hurts. But exciting. In a weird way. Like starting a new school. But it’s your whole life.

16th April

Back to Dublin this evening. Feel better than I’ve felt in a while. Yesterday was wonderful. I don’t know what I did. Just wandered about. Looked at stuff. Imagined myself living here. Hopelessness calmed by a spark of determination. Want to move forward. Fall in love with life again. Be happy again. For the first time, that doesn’t feel impossible.

17th April

Home. Awful. Everything is awful.

Spoke to Shane when I got back last night. Briefly. I hadn’t replied in a few days. He was worried. Asked if anything was wrong. Made me laugh. Sometimes I do wonder about his brain.

It was a horrible phone call. A lot of tears. On both ends. I told him I don’t want to talk to him anymore. Not until he gets back.

It’s helpful. Not talking to him. Horrible. Torturous. But helpful. It’s too confusing. Everything feels so clear in my head. Until I speak to him. I get lost in his words. It’s like whiplash, juggling so many opposing truths at once. Conversation pivoting between small talk and the disintegration of our marriage. Laughing one minute. Crying the next. Want to kill him and kiss him. Never want to see him again, but know that this unbearable burning itch inside of me will only be tamed once we are together.

We hung up. I sat there. For hours. All night, maybe. Oppressive silence of my room so hollow, it felt like it might burst my eardrums. I swear the walls were creeping in closer. The weight of the ceiling settled onto my shoulders. All my breakthroughs evaporated. Saw them escaping through a crack in the window. Didn’t take me with them. Left me there. Nothing but my thoughts. Stifling company. Hard to breathe through them. Felt suffocated when I realised that even if we do get back together, even if we salvage some sort of something out of this, it won’t be like it was. It just won’t. What we had is gone. Forever. It will never be the same again.

12 days till he’s home.

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Keep Reading Here - Entry #7 - Beginning Of The End Of The Beginning

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Previously on “Nodus Tollens”

She’s back in Ireland. The scenery changed, but the feelings did not.

7th April

Ten days since I got back. Time has stopped making sense. Don’t know where it’s going. Days feel like weeks. Hours feel like seconds. Passing by in a blur. A whirlwind. Been busy, but also been doing nothing.

Have caught up with everyone. Nearly. Everyone I want to see. For now. Taking it one group at a time. Pretty exhausting telling the same story over and over again. And over again. Especially this story. I can get through it without crying now. That’s a win. The bar is low these days. The recounting has become somewhat robotic. Just rattle through the events, then sit back, nodding politely as I’m showered in advice.

God. The advice. Practically drowning in it at this point.

Telling me that “Time will heal”. That’s great. Wonderful. I’m so happy for this future version of myself who has reaped the benefits of time’s magical healing powers. Hurts now, though. What about this version of myself? Any tidbits to help her?

That’s not the worst one. Not by a long stretch.

“Every relationship has its ups and downs”. Can actually feel the scalding sparks of fury shooting up from the pit in my stomach with this one. It’s not even the sentiment. I mean, it is. But it’s more the way it’s uttered that really gets me tensed up. Always in such a dismissive, blasé tone. Like I’m making a big deal out of it. Rolls off the tongue with the same intonation you’d use to tell a child to stop having a tantrum.

“Everything happens for a reason”. Less liberally used. Thankfully. Feel the need to smash something when I hear this. A car, perhaps. With a hammer, ideally. Doesn’t have to be a hammer. Just something heavy. Because what reason? What reason could justify this? What grand plan does the universe have at play that will make this feel okay?

It’s all well-meaning. I know. Comes from a good place. I know. I know. I know. I’m just sick of it. They don’t understand. They can’t relate. They don’t know what I’m going through. It makes it worse. Adds to the noise in my brain. Loud enough in there as it is.

Starting to feel like our old car when we burned out the brakes. Can practically see the fumes billowing from my ears when I look in the mirror.

As you might have noticed, I’m living right at the edge of my fuse these days. Doesn’t take much to tip me over. Great fun for those around me, I’m sure. Had breakfast with my parents yesterday. The chewing. Honest to God. Never noticed it before. Don’t know how. It was deafening. Each chew sounded like a sharpened acrylic nail being scraped down a blackboard. Rage settled behind my eyes. Felt the heat emanating from my laser beam glare. I ignored it. Played it cool.

That’s not true. At all. Did a lot of passive-aggressive huffing before I stormed out. Even slammed my door. I think.

Like I said. Full regression. 32 going on 16.

All that’s left to do is dig out the old High School Musical posters. Plaster my walls with Troy Bolton. I’ll be set. I should watch those movies again. Think they would heal something in me. When I’m trying to sleep, maybe.

Sleeping again, but now I keep dreaming of them. Together. They are so vivid. The dreams. Getting worse every night. Fingers crossed, tonight I get a fun little basketball-inspired musical number thrown into the mix. Add some variety. So I don’t get bored.

8th April

Just read over my last entry. Wow. What a bummer.

Have decided to try being more positive. Starting now.

The clouds looked very pretty today. Grey dabs of upwards brushstrokes. Background tinged with splatterings of pink. Like a painting blanketing the sky. Very nice.

I’m finally getting into this journaling thing. I guess I need somewhere to unload my crazy now that Shane is gone. I do miss our evenings together. Taking turns ranting about the day’s events. Journaling will have to do for now. It’s better, in some ways. More unfiltered. Though I sometimes catch myself not writing something because I’m worried about what he would think. Like he’s peering over my shoulder. Feels like the first place I can be truly honest, and still, I’m censoring myself to appease someone who will never read these words. Weird.

More good things.

Oh God.

Why is this so hard?

Saved a dog on my walk yesterday. Well. Kind of. She was trapped between two bars in a gate. Big panic. Yapping and floundering. I helped her get free. Brought her back to her owner. That was sweet. Made me feel useful. Made my day feel worthwhile.

Those walks are the only thing anchoring me at the moment.

It’s been hard to know where to walk. Was avoiding all the places we’d ever been together. Not easy. Impossible actually. Dublin is really not very big. Feels smaller now than I remember. Decided to change tactics.

Exposure therapy.

Armed with a playlist of all our favourite songs, I visited the spots haunted by the ghosts of our memories. First kiss. First date. The café we found when we got lost after eating those brownies. The shop where that man screamed at Shane for buying the same jacket as him. Good times. Wanted to dust away all the cobwebs of the past. Make space for new experiences.

It was rough. Very not fun. The songs made it worse. So much worse. The lyrics felt too meaningful. Too loaded. Too triggering. Don’t think I can listen to any of them anymore. Sucks. Some of my favourites. Hopefully, the sting will be taken out of the places I visited. Will think of this next time I go there, instead of him. Unsure if it will work. Jury’s still out. Will report back.

I still haven’t unpacked. Suitcase is at my bedroom door, where I dumped it when I got home. Splayed open. Clothes littered everywhere. Have to step through it when I come in and out of the room. Don’t have the energy for it. Too much of a commitment. Won’t feel like a holiday anymore. Mum asks me every day if I’ve unpacked yet. Pitch gets higher every time. Like her throat is tightening, clenching around the unfinished task. It’s actually pretty funny. It’s driving her crazy. See her eye twitching when I tell her I’ll get around to it. She’s really suppressing her instincts.

Everyone’s treating me very delicately. Handling me with kid’s gloves. I feel bad. Don’t want to torture her. I’ll do it today.

I need to start looking for a job. Opened a website yesterday and shut my whole laptop down before the page even loaded. Not a promising start. It’s too soon. But I want some semblance of certainty. About where this is all going. Where my life is heading.

Feel torn. Not in my past life anymore. Not in my future yet. Stuck here. In limbo. Just me in a roomful of unanswered questions. Prodding at me.

Haven’t been thinking about the future too much. Not sure if that’s wise. Been talking to Shane a little more. Daily now. Also, not sure if that’s wise. Don’t care though. It’s too difficult, this no-contact thing.

Three weeks till he’s home.

10th April

It’s like 5 am. Or something. I think I need to go to the hospital. I probably don’t. But I don’t feel normal.

Put the symptoms into Google. Provided nothing useful. Feels like pressure. Skin tightening around my bones. World upside down, gravity pressing down on me. A headache like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Skull splitting open, one layer at a time. From the inside out. Agonising. It woke me up. Which is good. I guess. Was having another dream. Or, nightmare.

This was the worst one so far. Started, same as all the others. Them. Dancing, hugging, glowing. A halo around her head. Coy smiles and suggestive winks. Pretty standard. This time, though, they were naked.

Very. Fucking. Disturbing.

Even just remembering it coats my mouth in a thin layer of bile. Anyway. Rest was the usual shit.

I watched them from a distance. Screaming. They didn’t hear me. Didn’t want to hear me. They disappeared. Spiralled from there. Ran around some house I’d never been to, stumbling through doors that led to nothing but empty rooms. Thumping of lead-laced blood in my ears. Couldn’t find him anywhere. Don’t remember what happened next. The last thing I saw before I woke up was her smiling face. No basketball number yet.

So grim. Longing for insomnia. Better than this.

I miss him so much. I hate him. But I miss him. Constantly. Every single thing about him. There’s this like, fucking yearning, like a hunger, I don’t know, a deep primal something inside of me that wants to see him. Needs to see him. To talk to him. To forgive him. To go back in time and make all this not have happened.

I need to find a therapist. I’ve been researching. About the dreams and stuff. About everything, actually. Who knew there were so many blogs about infidelity? Anyway. Seems like it can give you a ptsd type thing. Sounds very dramatic. Bit daft. But still. Therapy will help. Can’t make it any worse, at least.

I’m not going to sleep again. I can’t. I don’t want to. I’ll unpack. I’m actually going to Galway in a few days. My little solo trip. Nothing crazy. Should be nice. Hopefully.

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Keep Reading Here - Entry #6 - Pause. Breathe. Escape. Again?

Thank you for reading x

Previously on “Nodus Tollens”

A lot of packing, spiralling, and second-guessing before she left her old life behind.

30th March

I just slept for 17 hours. Straight through. Feel very dazed. Took me a long time to figure out where I was when I woke up.

I’m home.

The trip was harrowing. I don’t think I fully comprehended what was going on until my plane took off. It all suddenly hit me. Spent the whole flight crying. The man beside me was not thrilled about his seat allocation. Sympathetic at first, in fairness. I think by hour three, he was just straight up freaked. Kept glancing over. I tried to be discreet. Don’t know that I succeeded in that.

Also, nearly missed my connection. Should have just booked direct. Anyway. Doesn’t matter. All behind me now.

I can’t put into words how weird it feels to be back in Ireland. A warm hug. Enveloping comfort that leaves something to be desired. I’m not whole. Left part of myself behind. I feel it. An aching crevice in my chest. Can’t be filled by anyone or anything here.

Mum’s trying to fill it with food. The amount she’s cooking. It’s excessive. Seriously excessive. Don’t have the heart to tell her that I have no appetite. She’s trying. Fussing. A lot. Dad is being… how to describe it. Sternly silent? Does that make sense? He’s disappointed. In Shane. Also, in me. For vaping again. I’m stressed. Leave me alone.

As if he’s gonna read this. He better fucking not.

They don’t know how to be. Relatable. Neither do I. I can tell they’re biting their tongues. Don’t want to speak out of turn. In case we get back together, I guess. I should decide about that at some point. Not now. Not yet. I want us to be together. I think. I really do want to be with him. Stay with him. I’m just not sure he’s worth it. I don’t know who he is. The man I married is hard to recognise in him.

I don’t even know who I am anymore. Or what I want.

Or what to be doing with myself now that I’m home. It’s a lot of moping about, at the moment. Darkening every room I enter with the big old cloud hanging over my head. Accompanies me everywhere. My new life partner.

Weird to be here without Lucy. In the midst of all this, I’d forgotten she died. That was a fun little reminder to come home to. Missing her a lot. I could do with her company. Even taking her on a walk would be a good excuse to get out of the house. Give me something to do.

Although it has been raining nonstop since I touched down. Like the country is crying for me.

Oh. Wow.

I just physically cringed. That’s the sappiest thing I’ve ever said. This journal is changing me. Glad I’m the only one reading this. People will think I’ve gone very New York if I start coming out with shit like that in public.

Anyway, it feels right. The rain, I mean. Not being sappy.

Also, if it were sunny… The pressure to socialise. It’d be too much. Don’t feel ready for that.

My friends are all trying to make plans. I’m avoiding them. Don’t know why.

Well, actually, I do.

I really feel quite embarrassed. Like a failure. Returning home after 3 years. Tail between my legs. Failed at marriage. Failed at emigrating. Failed at my career. At adulthood. At everything. Nothing more humbling than moving back into your childhood bedroom at nearly 33.

So much to rebuild.

Now that I have a fresh start, I don’t really know what to do with it. I guess there’s a freedom in losing everything. Nothing left but a fully blank page. Rewrite the story. Alone.

After a decade of thinking for two, it does feel odd. Having full control over my life. My future. Quite terrifying, to be honest. Maybe not terrifying. Overwhelming for sure.

Might start dancing again. Soon. Someday. I want to feel excited. And free.

I do, a little already. Free from the weight that was sitting in my stomach. From the cobweb that clung to me, smothering me with obligations. Sticking tighter every time I tried to wriggle out of it.

In other good news, the pulsing stopped. As soon as I got back. I guess my body was telling me something. I’m so happy I listened to it.

Look at me. So positive. More upbeat already.

I’m going to try to sleep again. Probably shouldn’t because of jet lag. Whatever.

I’ll survive.

1st April

I’m hungover. Not too bad, considering my current baseline. Could definitely be worse.

It was wonderful to see everyone yesterday. To be back in a proper pub. Cosy, woody smell of stale beer. Homey booths. Sticky floors. Though those were commonplace enough in New York as well. It felt comfortable. Like getting into bed after a long day.

My fears were unwarranted. Nobody’s judging me. At least not in a way that I noticed. But also, they’re not. They just feel bad for me. All have the same look. Sympathetic eyes. Widened, softened, light furrow of the brow. Identical, every single one of them. Would be funny if it weren’t so fucking tragic.

Nobody can believe it. What Shane did. Makes me feel better. Their shock. At least I wasn’t an idiot, overlooking glaring red flags. Small victories. I’ll take what I can get at this point.

I did do something kind of psycho last night. Not that psycho. I could be doing a lot worse. Smashing cars, a la lemonade and all that. Don’t feel so much anger, though. Just sad. And numb. Which I recently learned is not a good thing. Oh well.

One thing at a time.

Anyway, I texted her husband. Already had the message written out. Work of art, that message was. Basically, telling him she was as much a part of this as Shane was. I’d want someone to do that for me. I don’t know what she’s told him. They’re still together, though. She gets her happily ever after, dancing on the ruins of my life.

I showed the girls. They told me to send it.

He read it. Like, instantly. Within seconds. No reply, though. I freaked out. Spiralled very quickly. Remarkably quickly. Had halfway convinced myself that I’d made everything up when Anna brought me back down to earth. Spoke some sense into me. Mostly. Outwardly. The internal babbling remained deafening.

I need to put it out of my head. None of my business at the end of the day. Still stings though. Just want her to suffer. Does that make me a bad person? I don’t care. Maybe I should be a bad person. Maybe this is the start of my villain arc. I don’t think I’d be a good villain.

Let’s see how things unfold.

Won’t rule it out.

5th April

It’s been a long week. A lot of people. So many people. It’s easy for a while. Fun, even. To bury the sadness in the back of my mind. But it always creeps back up. Steamrolls me out of the blue. Smacks me right in the heart, robbing me of all my oxygen.

It’s a battle to maintain the facade. Doing it for other people’s sake, it feels like. Food tastes bland, still hard to swallow. Forced laughter. Conversations are laborious. Can’t talk about anything. My past, all him. My present, too sad. My future, too uncertain. Doesn’t leave much. People are tiptoeing around me. Makes me pretty terrible company.

It all feels so stifling. I get claustrophobic when people come close to me. Heart races towards a panic attack. Red-hot pressure shooting through me, settling in my ears. And my toes. So tense. Makes me violent. Irrational, I know.

I snapped at Dad for standing near me. I was pretty nasty, actually. He was offended. He didn’t get it.

What’s that all about? Self-protection or something?

I think I might be a little traumatised.

I want to escape. Again. Being back here doesn’t offer the relief I thought it would. The only place that would make me feel better is the one place I cannot go.

Spoke to him briefly today. He’s not doing well. He’s moved back into our apartment. I don’t envy him. He’s gonna come back in a month. He thinks. Seems long for him to be so far away. But it’s good. I guess. Gives me time to figure things out.

He’s angry at me for leaving. His whole family is. Think I’m in the wrong. You should see how much my grip tightened around the pen while writing that. Nearly snapped it in two. My leaving was not a choice. Not really. It was a lifeline. It was he who made the choice.

Anyway. Whatever. Fuck it. Maybe I am angry.

I’m thinking of booking a trip. Little solo adventure. Haven’t done that. Ever. Could be cute. I’ll look into it.

My family just got home. There was talk of the aunties popping by. Don’t want to talk. I’m going to hide in my room. Pretend to sleep or something.

God.

I’ve regressed to my 15-year-old self. Hopefully will be making better choices this time. Let’s wait and see.

Don’t have high hopes.

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Keep Reading Here - Entry #5 - Advice On Surviving Limbo

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Previously on “Nodus Tollens”

Her life crumbled around her. It was decision time. To stay or to leave?

26th March

Today was weirdly calm. Very peaceful. I’m so glad I quit my job. I went to Brighton Beach. I don’t go there enough. It was beautiful. Serene. I just sat there. For three hours. I think the ripples of the waves dancing onto the shore sent me into a trance of some sort. I haven’t even cried yet today. It’s nearly 5 o’clock. Feels strange. Maybe I’m over it? Maybe I’m good? Maybe a week is all it took for me to process the end of my marriage. The “maybe” end of my marriage. Maybe not. I don’t know. I’m saying maybe a lot.

I don’t want to think about it. I’m probably not over it.

Apparently, your body does a thing where it numbs you from emotions when they become too much. Too constant or overwhelming or whatever. Your mind just shuts it all down and lets you breathe for a second. Which is lovely. Grateful for that feature.

I wish it would come when I’m trying to sleep. I’ve developed a resistance to melatonin. I take it, but spend the nights awake. Zombified. Crying, vaping, walking around the dark and empty apartment. It feels so loud in there.

I think I might be starting to hallucinate. Probably not, but I walked out into the street on my way down to the beach. I thought a rat was running at me, but I don’t know if that’s true. Can’t really remember now. A man on an electric bike missed me by an inch. He was very New York, roaring curses over his shoulder as he cycled off. I stayed in the street watching him. Wishing that he had hit me.

It would have felt like a relief.

It’s probably for the best that he didn’t. He was going real fast. Would have landed me in the hospital. Last thing I need right now. Might have made me miss my flight.

Oh, also. I booked my flight. I’m leaving.

The day after tomorrow.

It’s all happening very quickly. Too quickly. This last week has been the longest of my life, but it still feels very sudden. Not wrong, though. After all the back and forth, I felt a calmness settle over me once I’d booked them. The flights. Probably because I’d finally made up my mind. The certainty in that.

The calm didn’t last long. The palpitations came back soon after. When I had to tell Shane. He had a strange reaction. Like, not really any reaction. He didn’t fight for me. Not that I’d want that.

But kind of.

Maybe this is what he actually wants. Me to leave.

I keep trying to make sense of it. Of why he did it.

Trying not to think about it too much. I’m thinking about other things. Random things. Like that concert next month. Kerala Dust. Been wanting to see them for ages. Won’t get to go now. All the people I’ll never see again. That I won’t get to say goodbye to. My favourite yoga teachers, who I’ll never get to thank for their classes.

I mean, it obviously doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. But easier to worry about that, I suppose. Than everything else. Than my actual life.

I have so much to do. Can’t bring myself to do anything. Cancel my yoga membership. Other things that I can’t remember right now. I need to make a list. Call my parents. It’s time to tell them.

I feel sick. I should eat. It’s been a while.

27th March

It’s my last night. I’m at home now. Had to finish packing, and honestly, I wanted to be alone for a while. Gather my thoughts.

I was at Jess’s earlier. It was fun. We listened to shitty pop music. Westlife, Britney, McFly. That song about the girl with colours in her hair. I used to love that song. Danced around. It was very silly. We spoke of all the things I’ll do when I get home. Kind of exciting. When I don’t think about it too much, it feels like I’m going on a holiday.

Then I got into the taxi and started crying. The taxi driver was creepy. Real creepy. He was hitting on me. Like, read the fucking room. He told me to let him know whenever I was back in New York.

Sure. Will do, buddy.

I don’t think I’ll ever come back here. Which is sad. A little.

This apartment is a mess. I keep packing, unpacking, repacking. I don’t know what to bring. I don’t want to keep any of my clothes. They don’t feel like mine anymore. I’m leaving everything behind. Most of my stuff. All our photos, our wedding stone, all the posters, pictures and lamps that made up our home. Even the cool one that projects galaxies onto the wall. I want to bring that. But it’ll just remind me of here.

I am taking my wedding rings with me, though. I haven’t worn them since the night he told me. Feel naked without them. I keep going to play with them. Sinking feeling when I thumb the empty space. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that. I didn’t realise how much I fidgeted with them.

I saw Shane today. He came to help me pack. We had logistical things to discuss. Felt clinical. Talking admin, all formal, bank accounts, signing the lease over to him, the internet and all that. Made me realise how intertwined he is in every single part of my existence. It seems impossible to untangle ourselves from each other. I get why people stay.

I don’t know if I’m making the right choice.

He’s feeling very sorry for himself. Didn’t even seem to care about how I was doing. Barely asked. Like he’s just given up. I don’t even feel like he’s apologetic. I asked him why he did it. Useless endeavour. I’m none the wiser. He just rattled through a list of excuses, flailing, rambling, throwing shit at the wall, hoping something would stick.

I asked him if it was because he wanted out of our marriage. He said no. He still loves me. Still wants to be with me. Stay married. Work it out. Rebuild. All that bullshit.

I don’t know if any of that is true. I don’t think he even knows. It’s really hard to believe anything he says. He’s promising me the world. He’ll change. Be better. Be sober.

Anything it takes.

I don’t want to hear it. I’m fucking tired. Tired of his stupid pouting face. His wallowing tone, his widened eyes, brimming with self-pity, like Puss in Boots trying to milk the sympathy.

It’s pathetic.

I need to finish packing. My flight is early. I don’t even know where my passport is. This place is a mess.

28th March

I’m at the airport. It’s oppressively loud. A kid is climbing on the seats behind me. I’m scared she’s going to read my journal. She probably can’t even read. Also, definitely wouldn’t be interested.

I can’t believe I’m here.

I’m sitting in a corner with my hood pulled down over my face. I was wandering around the airport earlier. Aimless dawdling, a metaphor for my life. I saw my old coworker. Hence why I’m now trying to blend in with the furniture. If I had to talk to anyone right now, I’d burst into tears. Embarrassing. For me. Also, for him. Can you imagine? Stopping for small talk with a co-worker at the airport, unpleasant at the best of times, never mind if they erupt into snotty hysterics.

Too awkward. Too uncomfortable.

Also, if I start crying right now, I won’t be able to stop. I need to hold it together till I’m on the plane. If I make it that far. Part of me wants to do a reverse rom-com scene. Run back home and pretend that none of this has happened.

I keep having to remind myself that there is nothing to return to. The person I thought I was is dead. The life I envisioned is gone. It was mine to lose and his to throw away.

And he did.

And maybe it’ll be a good thing. I guess I wasn’t all that happy. But I didn’t want this. Maybe it’ll all work out for the best. People keep saying that to me. It awakens a fierce rage within me when they do.

My loneliness is overwhelming. I feel it radiating off me, pulling the walls closer. I can’t take a full breath. Like phantom hands press down on my ribs, as if getting ready to start CPR. Maybe I’m dead. This is purgatory. It feels like purgatory. Maybe that bike did hit me. I had a heart attack.

It’s probably just anxiety, though, not a heart attack.

This is so dramatic.

A couple across from me is being all cute and in love. Tempted to march over and tell them to enjoy it now, because it’s not going to last forever. Which is psychotic.

Girl.

I need to chill.

My flight is delayed. Again. Which feels risky. Prolonging the time for me to change my mind. Maybe it’s a sign?

No. Stop. Don’t think that. Stop it.

He was weird when we said goodbye. I don’t think he thought I’d actually leave. Neither did I. Really.

I feel nauseous. I should have brought Motilium.

Our flight is boarding. I’m not gonna queue yet. My legs are trembling too much. Not sure they’re able to hold me up.

All I can think of is him. His voice, his laugh, our love and our memories. His smile. I wish he were here.

Final call.

He’s ringing me. Again. Third time. I’m not going to answer. Should I? Just in case. Maybe something happened.

No.

Okay. I’m going. I’m leaving. I’ll journal when I’m home.

New life loading.

I don’t feel excited anymore. I have no idea how anything will ever feel okay again. I just want this all to be over.

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Keep Reading Here - Entry #4 - Blank Page

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Previously on “Nodus Tollens”

Something was wrong. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Restless, longing, but not unhappy. Not really.

20th March

It’s 3:55 am. I should be sleeping. I need to sleep. I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again. My brain is too busy. My heart is too sore. Like, physically painful. Really strange. A stabbing that pulses up into my chest. The feeling of butterflies in your tummy, but instead, wasps buzz around your whole body. Quite nauseating.

I called in sick to work this week. I just couldn’t face it. Couldn’t face the subway. Couldn’t face my co-workers. Seeing them in the break room, people chatting, sharing stories. Oh, you went to see a show last night? That’s nice. Well, my whole fucking world fell apart, thanks for asking. I also can’t get through more than twenty minutes without breaking down. Embarrassing at work. And on the commute. The looks I’d get. Though I’m sure I wouldn’t be the first person crying on the Subway. I think there’s a song about that. I don’t know. I don’t care.

I’m still in shock. Or, dazed or something. It’s super foggy outside, so that doesn’t help. Nothing feels very real right now. Like I’m walking through a dream. Out of sync. I keep getting these bizarre, overwhelming urges to laugh. I did, yesterday actually. An ab-numbing cackle exploded out of me in the middle of the shop. It was fucking deranged. People were staring. Totally fair. I’d be staring too. I left the shop without buying anything. Don’t even know what I went in there for.

Every time I close my eyes, I see them hugging. At that party. I should have fucking known. The hug lasted too long. Just a second too long. Her husband didn’t seem to mind. Or, even notice actually. I told myself I was overreacting. Ignored the alarm bells ringing in a faraway part of my mind, the clenched spasms jolting through me.

I would do that. Overreact, I mean. I do that. It made sense. And, it was him. He would never hurt me. He was never supposed to hurt me. This is not how our story was supposed to go.

March 23rd

I’ve been staying at Jess’s over the last few days. She’s been wonderful. I’m very lucky to have her.

I didn’t want to go at first. Just wanted to find different corners of our apartment to curl up in and smoke the life out of my vape. I did do that for a few hours. But everything here is him. It’s us. This is our home, every square inch, heavy with memories. Our conversations, absorbed into the walls, our faces literally smiling at us from them. Why do we have so many fucking photos? Anyway, after a while, I started itching. Real bad. A toxic rash crawled over my skin, begging me to claw it off. Break free from this body. When my scratching drew blood, I figured it would be best to go to Jess’s. I did. It helped. Like, so much. Distractions. Talking rather than sitting in the dark in paralysed rumination.

Jess keeps trying to get me to eat. It’s tough. Eating is not really working for me right now. It just kind of collects in my mouth. I can’t seem to swallow. Like, my body is broken. It probably is. It feels that way, for sure. I’m home now. Tried to have a piece of toast. My tears made it soggy. The yeast disintegrated into sludgy lumps. I threw it out.

I can’t get the image of her shoes out of my head. Weird, I know. Glossy loafers, neatly buckled clasps. Supremely spotless. Not in an embarrassing “I just got new shoes” kind of way. Just in a way that makes you think she has her life together. Which she does. I don’t know why she had to insert herself into mine. My shoes are in tatters. Always. My insistence on buying the cheapest pair, subjecting my feet to a never-ending relay race of blisters, has backfired.

Maybe that’s why he did it. That’s what he liked about her. Her togetherness. She probably has interesting theories on whether Shakespeare actually wrote his plays or how best to access character through pretending to be a fucking zebra. He loves all that shit. Loves it more than listening to me nattering on in corporate jargon that I don’t even understand. I see his expression when I’m in meetings here at home. A stifled eyeroll. Disappointment. Like I’m a sellout. Hitting the buzzwords, trying to sound smart, sounding instead more like a badly miscast actor stumbling through their lines.

He’d like that simile.

Maybe if I’d stuck with my art, he wouldn’t have done this. We were much more alike back then. It didn’t really matter what life threw at us. We had each other. It was fun. Our own little chaotic adventure. I guess we lost that. Or, gave it up. Or I did, maybe. But we discussed it. We agreed that one of us should get serious. Build some stability. We’d take turns. I went first. It made sense at the time. For whatever reason. Can’t remember now.

People keep asking me what I’m going to do. I can’t shake this creeping feeling that I need to leave. Go home, I mean. Feels scary even to write that. And, maybe it’s not a good idea. It feels so final. Like an overreaction. I don’t know.

Best to make a clean break. Right?

Futile exercise this, asking a fucking journal for answers. What good is that going to do me? I don’t see the point. I need to make a list. Pros and cons. Seems like a decent place to start.

March 25th

I quit my job today. It was pretty impulsive. I told them it was a visa issue. That there was no workaround. I just quit. It’s for the best. I hated it anyway. The pros and cons list didn’t help. I mean, it did. Didn’t feel satisfying, though, the answers I got. I don’t know what I was hoping for.

The voices in my head are debating, roaring over each other to be heard. It’s exhausting. One side says it’s a betrayal of myself to stay. The other says it’s a betrayal of him to leave. I guess I don’t owe him anything. Not anymore. I don’t want to be trapped. Shackled by obligation. Or fear. That’s what scares me. More than anything.

So maybe leaving is right. A little break might be good for us. Good for me.

It’s so daunting. Everything I know, my home, my job, my city, my husband, all the pillars of stability that hold my life in place, gone. With one decision. I won’t have anything. No anchor. Nothing. I don’t think I can do it.

They’re already gone, though, aren’t they?

I think I want to leave. I kind of think I might feel it in my gut. There’s a voice telling me to leave. I kind of want to listen to that voice.

I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me if I do.

I haven’t even told my parents yet. In their world, everything is still normal. I’d love to be in their world. Feels weird to be keeping this from them. Telling them will make it real. Shatter the illusion that this is just a temporary visit to an alternate reality. I’ll tell them when I know what I’m doing.

I want to talk to him. This feels like something we should decide together. I want to call him. I won’t. Bad idea. I shouldn’t. I can’t. I hate him. Maybe I should go. Start over. I don’t know. I’ll decide tomorrow. Will try sleep now.

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Next Post - Entry #3 - Goodbye To Her

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“Nodus Tollens”

Nodus Tollens - The realisation that your life story doesn’t make sense to you anymore

A series of fictional Journal entries from an early 30s corporate girlie whose life imploded overnight. Posted weekly.

Start Here

1. Entry #1 - the (kind of) calm before the storm

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2. Entry #2 - Shock. Rumination. The Crushing Weight Of One Decision

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3. Entry #3 - Goodbye to Her

4. Entry #4 - Blank Page

5. Entry #5 - Advice On Surviving Limbo

6. Entry #6 - Pause. Breathe. Escape. Again?

7. Entry #7 - Beginning Of The End Of The Beginning

Next post coming - 2nd June 2026!

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I’m not into journaling. Never have been. Don’t see the appeal. Sarah recommended it when I couldn’t shut up about my spiralling thoughts, so maybe it’ll help. She’s a spiritual girl. She knows about things like this. Being grounded and all that.

It’s not that anything has gone wrong. My life is perfectly pleasant. Happy, even. The pieces fit together really well. There’s no reason for this thought that I can’t seem to shake, that I’m misaligned or something. An intrusive thought that gnaws at me now and again. Not in a way that feels painful. Hardly even noticeable at the best of times. Always there, though. Nibbling at my sanity, whispering away in a dark corner of my consciousness. A subtle itching that can’t be scratched. I can ignore it if I fill my day with enough distractions. And, there are usually enough distractions.

I guess I thought we’d be happier once we got here. That our new life, in a new city, would make that voice fade away. Things would fall into place, and finally, it wouldn’t all be so oppressively mundane. It did, for a while. Get better, that is. The happiness that lurked around the corner was just inches out of reach. We were so close. The hard times in our rear-view mirror, our lives felt hopeful. Shimmering like an endless golden hour. It was good. Peaceful.

But the voice came back. Louder, sometimes. I’m not at home here. Scary to admit that. I obviously love living here. I love it. I love our lives. I love this city. It just doesn’t really feel like the city loves me back.

I’m talking again, like something bad has happened. It hasn’t. I just feel so numb.

Maybe it’s capitalism. The corporate lifestyle is truly zombifying, and living in New York has only accentuated that. My eye bags grow heavier by the day. If I continue at this rate, I’ll have to pay for them as checked-in luggage the next time we fly home. That’s a bad joke. For my own sake. Not like anyone is going to read this.

Shane, at least, seems to have some joy in his life. Or at least, he has friends. I don’t yet. Also weird. I don’t really like his friends. They’re all artists. I feel like they judge me for my corporate job. Like, I’m some white-collar robot. Not interesting, nothing to add, no haughty notions, no insights into the inner workings of the human psyche. I often have to fight the impulse to strangle them with their second-hand scarves and tell them that someone has to indulge Shane’s visions of grandeur. Not indulge. Support.

Anyway. It will all work out. I’m sure. It’s all about the mindset, isn’t it? Or it already has worked out, and I just can’t see it. Blinded by my need to have something to complain about. It’s pathological at this stage. It’s not that deep. Life is good. It could be so much worse.

Mind over matter.

6th March 2024

I have not been staying on top of this journaling thing. Time is going by very quickly. I’m tired.

I’ve had this weird sensation all week, like I’m living in someone else’s body. And, I’m not even in luteal. I’m ovulating. This is supposed to be the best of times. I can’t really explain the feeling. Even when I see a photo of myself, that person looks uncanny in some way. Unrecognisable. Sounds dumb when I write it out. It’s the same feeling I get when I wear a fancy dress and heels. Like a kid playing dress up in their mother’s clothes. The way I felt on my wedding day. Like an imposter. Subtly uncomfortable. But that’s probably normal, I’d say. It’s not like you’re buzzing about in a wedding dress every other day of your life.

I’m journaling in a cafe right now. Ordered a matcha even though I hate them. Why do I do that? Maybe I expect it to taste better if I stick with it long enough. It’s really loud in here. There’s a group of girls beside me talking about their Tinder dates, which is actually pretty entertaining. I’m glad I don’t have to deal with that ever again.

I keep losing my train of thought. Not sure about this journaling thing. I don’t really get how journaling is meant to make you feel better.

The vibes are weird lately. With Shane and me. At home.

We haven’t been fighting or anything. I might be, like, reading into things. As I’ve been known to do. But, I don’t know, he feels distant. It’s something in his eyes. The way he looks at me, the way he holds me in his arms. It feels different. Hard to explain. Sometimes it feels like he’s turning a little more into a stranger every day.

It’s not constant. Most of the time it’s great. We’re laughing. It’s the same old us. We’re just on different wavelengths. I can tell he feels it too. It’s too much to talk about though. Too much to think about. We need a holiday. To reconnect. We were supposed to go away next week, but he’s directing that show now, so we had to cancel. Which is totally fine. We’ll go next time.

I was looking forward to it, though.

Time is moving so quickly. I thought I’d have a lot more figured out by now. I’m 32, and it feels like my dreams have slipped through my fingers before I could even really recognise what they were. Like trying to remember an actual dream. I just feel so powerless. And, I don’t know how to change it. Or, even if it is anything that can be changed.

We’re going to some party tonight with his friends. It’s gonna suck. It’s dress up. Who does a fucking dress-up party in March?

It’ll be fun, I’m sure. I’m just being miserable because I hate my dorky costume. I look fat in it. I’m sure their costumes will be all witty and sexy. I’ll be there dressed as a witch. Or a cat. In fucking March. It’s all I have. I didn’t have time to get anything else. I’m wearing my long black dress, which I actually should get rid of because I hate it. Extremely unflattering. I can add a belt, or something. Might help. I should probably go on a diet anyway.

These girls are really loud, and I need to start getting ready, so that’s all the journaling for today.

19th March 2024

I was right. I knew something was off and was fucking right. Now everything has gone up in flames. And no, I’m not being dramatic.

Writing it down will make it feel too real. I’m flipping between denial and shock at a nauseating rate. My hands are shaking so much that I actually can’t do this journaling shit right now, but I don’t know what else to do. When I try to lie down, my stomach ties itself up into a million pulsing knots until lying becomes unbearable. Walking helps until my knees buckle, trying to hold me.

I don’t know what to do. I knew something was off, and I just sat back and let it happen.

My life is over.

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