I had that dream again. The dying dream. This time, I was sitting in my car, there was a hose running from the exhaust into the car and all the windows were sealed. I was just sitting there, and my heart started to seize up. I felt a shooting pain in my chest, and I woke gasping, tears running down my face.
I didn’t want to die. It just felt like there was no other option. I couldn’t stop crying for a long time.
Last week I told V that I wish I could look back on things and say that I’m glad I survived the overdose. I wish I could say that that is something I will never do again. But I can’t. I can’t. I don’t want to do it again, but I can’t promise anything. I’ve broken way too many promises. I don’t trust myself, nor do I believe myself when I make such promises. Not anymore.
I’ve been running a lot. Almost every day, I’m out there at lunchtime running. Every time I push myself that much harder, that much faster. I’ve been putting all my fear and all my anguish into a box, and I imagine myself running away from it. Anger and fear makes me a better runner.
I haven’t spoken to my folks in months. Probably not since end of last year, or very early this year. We email, but that is the extent of our communication. I told them I didn’t have a phone anymore, just my mobile which they cannot reach. That’s just another lie. I do have a phone. And a mobile. I just didn’t want them to call. I promised I’d call them. But that’s just another promise I’ve broken. For someone who likes to think she has integrity, or at least values integrity highly, I am nothing but one big fake.
One big pariah.