And so the muteness descends

Today’s been one of those days where it’s all an effort. I think I’m losing my voice and I just feel steam-rollered; speaking is a physical and mental challenge. I went out with my mother and I just wanted to sit and stare blankly out the windshield. She wouldn’t let me so I was monosyllabic. People shouldn’t put up with me but they do, and I don’t know what I’d do if they didn’t. I don’t feel stepped out but I just feel distant. Maybe I’m just tired from Duke of Edinburgh this weekend past. I’m staying up till midnight to fetch the Czech friend from the airport so tomorrow I will be even worse company. By the prom I will be comatose. That empty space inside of me is yawning wider and I don’t have much energy left to hang onto the edges. Soon it will be bye-bye, world, I’m off to the realms of the drastically depersonalised.

 

The sky is blue and the sun is shining and it hasn’t rained since Friday, when I was murdering my feet on hills and rocks, but I feel so down. And over at simpleharmonicmuddle, Chouette is feeling down; and over at colouredmind, Hannah is feeling down; and over at eccedentesiast, Em is feeling down. And whether that’s because they all get depression in various forms or whether it’s because someone somewhere has put something in our water, or whether it’s the weather (God I’m funny), it’s not just me. That seems to be as good a reason as any to blog. It’s not just me anymore.

 

Right now my mother is downstairs on the phone to a friend. I added a primary school friend on Facebook; she was happy; she told her mother; her mother told mine; mine got the shock of her life to hear her darling daughter was networking socially over the net that is the web. After all, why’s it called the internet if it isn’t a trap; why’s it called the web if it doesn’t trap you and kill you when the spider comes along? Huh. But she’s a wee bit more relaxed about it now, even though the friend saw a picture of Rhiannon making a dodgy pose, told her mother it was me, and the mother told mine it was me, too, and my mother shrieked “Did she have her clothes on?” and her table and the surrounding tables at the restaurant she was in went deathly quiet. It was tagged ‘Rhiannon’. It was evidently not me. My name is not Rhiannon.

 

Anyway, this all came as a great shock to my mother but now she is on the phone to the friend’s mother, saying that “These things can’t remain secret for long, you know? They’ve got to learn they just can’t keep that sort of that thing quiet.” Uh, excuse me? I kept it quiet for over a year, thank you very much. There are billions of secrets I have that are going to stay that way. You’re reading one, actually.

 

I am not a very interesting sort of person.

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