Easy As Falling Off A Bike part 49

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Easy As Falling Off A Bike.
by Angharad
part 49.

I switched off my phone, I was so upset I just sobbed to myself for maybe half an hour. I didn't know with whom to discuss this. Several names went through my mind, including Stella and the professor. I suppose the advice of Dr Thomas would be the most valuable, but she wouldn't be available until tomorrow. If men are able to compartmentalise their thinking, I certainly didn't make the grade because I couldn't switch off.

I kept wondering if I'd done the right thing, but he sounded so pathetic and I couldn't stand to think of this once proud man reduced to such levels. He was still my father and I know my mother would have wanted me to try to keep some sort of relationship with him. I felt guilty about that too, that I hadn't really said goodbye to her.

Lots of silly things ran through my mind, maybe I should try and find a medium and see if I could talk to her, but I didn't really believe in all that stuff. Would she forgive me for being what I am, a disappointment to both of them. I felt so down, so helpless and worthless, a sobbing piece of rubbish.

Reluctantly I went to bed, covering the pillow with a towel in case my tears made it to wet. I knew I wouldn't sleep, and I didn't for some hours, but I was resting and horizontal.

I lay there thinking about the brief meeting at the hospital, did he recognise me, of course he did. After all it wasn't that long since he had seen me, and a bit of makeup and hair cut wouldn't hide my main facial features. I felt sad again and cried some more, I would never see my mother again and that hurt. Thinking about it was like scratching a wound to make it bleed, but somehow the pain felt real, more real than anything else in my life at that moment. I was tempted to cut myself to make the pain physical rather mental, because it might be easier to bear.

The idea of watching my own blood run from my arm or leg seemed to capture me for some little while. I visualised cutting myself with something very sharp, like a razor blade or a scalpel, I had one somewhere. The blood oozed down my arm but it wasn't fast enough and I cut longer and deeper. It still wasn't fast enough so I nicked a vein. Now it started to flow, I cut it some more and now it was really flowing. I ran the scalpel up the blood vessel and blood was now pouring everywhere, there was little pain but I felt my life force pooling out on the bathroom floor. I felt a bit light-headed and sat down, blood still running everywhere including all over me.

I was becoming covered in my own blood, it was warm and sticky and I was dying, even in my befuddled shocked brain, I knew what was happening and I didn't care. It was a release and soon I'd be free as my life force ran away soaking into the carpet and my clothes.

In my stupor I saw my mother standing before me, she was not best pleased. "Just look at this mess Catherine, who is going to clean it up?"

I smiled back, because I was too weak to talk. I felt embarrassed but it wouldn't be for long.

"What do you think you are doing to yourself? What about all your plans, your ambitions, your romance with that young man? If you die now, how are you going to realise all these things and what is Professor Agnew going to think about you?"

I was dying but her words hit me like red hot sparks and I felt the pain. Yet I was too weak to reply to defend myself. How could she say these things to me, she was my mother and I loved her? How could she hurt me like this?

"Who is going to look after Derek (my father) if you die? Don't you know it's a daughter's duty to look after her father if her mother isn't there? So Catherine, are you going to disappoint me as a daughter like you did as a son?"

I struggled to stay conscious to listen to what she was saying, desperately fighting to answer her back, to say what I felt and to defend myself. Why should I care for my father, he didn't care for me? My mouth remained paralysed and I sat there slumped in my chair as the blood flow eased a little, presumably because there wasn't too much left to leak out of me.

"You know your father and I love you even though you seem to think otherwise? He tried to control himself but you made him so angry, he so badly wanted a son to carry on his name so when he discovered he had a daughter he was angry. He's angry with himself you know for not controlling his feelings, and we as women should forgive him. Men aren't as strong as women, they give into their feelings much more easily than we do. But then it's not going to bother you for much longer is it, because you're coming to join me IN HELL!"

Suddenly her face changed into that of a skull, the hair and skin peeling off and two monstrous creatures dragged her away, I could hear her screams and their maniacal laughter. It was horrible.

Then I looked up and two of the monsters were coming towards me, they reached out towards me and with one last effort I screamed and flailed away from them. I fell on the bedroom floor and the radio alarm clock hit me on the shoulder as it fell off the bedside cabinet.
I was sticky with sweat and my heart was beating like mad.

It took me a few moments to realise I'd had a nightmare, a really nasty one, so I must have fallen asleep. Picking myself up off the floor and returning the radio to its place, I went out on shaky legs to make a cup of tea, boy did I need it.

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Comments

Phheeewww. . .

you had me worried. No make that shaken, wow!! I was holding my breath reading. Only after she fell of the bed, I realized and came up for air. It was blood-running-cold horror, pulling my hair, I was questioning as to who would find her in time? Oh, you cruel cruel woman.

Oh my poor heart, it's definitely a year or so less for me now.

Transfixed I'll follow through though.

Jo-Anne

Bold Chapter

Well done, Auntie!! Had us all worried there until she woke up.

So, when are we going to start these lessons??? Hmmmm????

Never let it be said that I don't enjoy the occasional delusion of grandeur

Never let it be said that I don't enjoy the occasional delusion of grandeur

Okay

now I can breath again! You really had me going! Great story!
hugs!
grover

Ewwww!

Icky.

On several levels.

This was a very realistic description of one method of suicide, and I found it quite disturbing. Considering how fragile some of us readers are, it probably doesn't help to put ideas in our heads.

Hey kids! Don't try this at home.

Even in his dream, Mom is a bitch

Mom didn't say -- or at best played lip service to -- "you have so much to live for,"or " I loved you, I'm so sorry, please don't die."

Her main reaction in his/her dream of sucide was that a daughter needs to take care of her dad if mom dies. She said esentially daddy felt sooo bad about beating him and she owed it to him to let him make up. Geese, even in her dream mom ignored all the vicious beatings that occured long before hestarted chamging gender. No it ALWAYS the child's fault. If that is the best his/her mind can make of mom's *essense*, that he/she sees her as a nightmare, sod the lot of them.

Why risk more abuse?

John in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa

You Write Like This Every Day!!

I was quietly enjoying reading your story and the occasional comment when it suddenly struck me that you have said a couple of time something to the effect that you wouldn't be posting 'tomorrow' because of something or other in your life. (It's OK -- something or other in life happens to me, too). Then it struck me that implies you write an episode **every day** (usually).

I'm amazed. If I were to try to write something, I'm sure it would take me weeks to polish it to the point where I could have the temerity to post it for public scrutiny (ridicule?).

So my point (I usually get to it sooner or later) is that I am dumb-struck (and more than a bit jealous) of your ability. Congratulations and thank you for sharing your talent with those of us who can only read and wonder with gratitude.

Yours from the Great White North (Canada, not Iceland!)

Jenny Grier (Mrs.)

x

Yours from the Great White North,

Jenny Grier (Mrs.)

Suicide

A common theme unfortunately. Your taking the time to talk helped, sometime you absolutely must have a friend you can call on.

Thank you.

How dark and heavy!

It's distressing to read, but good to find a story that isn't all nicey. nicey. Makes it feel much more real.