Not Waving but Drowning

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
Stevie Smith

This weekend revolved around my own good graces and lack of a back bone...no...My own good graces and fact that I am severely agoraphobic and cannot leave the house on my own.

My relationship was revived from the dead cold grave it had fallen into on Friday. It had been killed off by his bad temper and my broken heart, and revived entirely by the fact that he gave me a full scale panic attack on Sunday night while he was screaming at me and assaulting the bed...that I happened to be sitting on. I screamed for him to stop over and over as loud as I could until I suddenly could not breathe and could only curl in a ball, gasping for air, and let myself cry.

When he realized I was having trouble breathing, he immediately stopped hitting and slamming the bed and screaming and realized what an ass he had been..well, that last part took till the next morning when he got over his ego and denial, and I reminded him of what he had done.

He merely asked how I felt. And then stated that he is likely not the best person for me to be around. When he is the sole person who gives me the time of day outside of school and who is supportive as long as he has absolutely no required duties, I have no real comment to that statement.

He only replied that my perception is wrong, that he doesn't use critical language. I told him that you do not have to use critical language to be critical of someone. He made me promise to tell him when he does it. I made him promise to not get mad at me when I do as he has done numerous times when I have done just that.

And he said he'd never seen me panic like that. Panic to the point of not being able to catch a breath. To the point of not being able to stand. Of feet going numb. Of feeling the need to vomit. Of needing xanax sublingually (under the tongue), which tastes chalky and bitter, but having the sudden calm rush of oxygen as the heart rate slows causing the bitterness to be worth it. It went for over a half hour, and without medication would have continued till I either fainted on the bathroom floor that I ran to and collapsed on when I felt like puking, or from exhaustion. That is what I used to do. Just going shopping. Just crossing streets. Just from someone harassing us.

It was my form of protection at times in dealing with unacceptable behaviors from doctors and social workers who yelled at me or tried to force out of my house. It scared the crap out of people. They stopped doing what they were doing. They left me alone afterwards.

But this time made me sad, because this time he caused that.

firsts that I can remember since I last updated:

first time bagging food for impoverished people
first time trying to volunteer in the community outside of the safe library.

first time eating chicken aioli sandwich and sweet potato bread

first time bringing a bag of 40 bagels home.

I have school tomorrow. up and out at 8 am.

I should be asleep by now. Oh well. shower, organize bags, then sleep...if I can.

~e