stress

Gary undercooked everything but he made me macaroni because he thought I wouldn't want the thing he'd originally made because it had meat. Then he proceeded to eat his food in front of his infant daughter who was hungry. Didn't give her any, that I saw. So I fed her off my fork and gave her some of my pasta.

I can't handle people eating off my fork unless I have made a conscious decision I'm okay with it. But she needed to eat. He was too busy talking my motherfucking ear off to feed her like it would kill him to get her some of her own, or feed her off his plate, and here I am, dealing with flashbacks and what I'm assuming to be annual traumatic feelings of depression and anger and anxiety, and getting frustrated because I'm playing Mommy to someone else's child while the father is sitting a foot away from me.

I didn't finish dinner. I didn't have the energy to get up and get a new fork out of the unnecessarily baby proofed drawer.

2:28 p.m.

5:50 p.m.

12:59 am

I just feel like I am suffering. My chest is made out of frozen paper thin layers of resin and everything is cracking from the inside working its way out.

5:14 pm

10:20 pm

3:44 PM

11:26 p.m.

I'm trying to distract myself. It didn't take me very long to get my head somewhat back in the game but I'm still not all here. I'm only replying so you don't worry. I'm only replying so you don't feel responsible. This isn't your fault.

The pain comes in intense waves. Old pain, ghost pains. But the smells and sounds and the feelings feel recent. It isn't stopping soon. These aren't my feelings. A different part of me felt this. Now I have to suffer too, doesn't that suck? I don't remember this.