Perspective

Chapter Five.

"Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?"

***

I didn't get a wink of sleep last night, and this time it wasn't the sleep paralysis, or the nightmares or the insomnia it was that smirk.

I'm beginning to resent the colour green.

Mum left this morning, hungover as all hell, as usual pretending like nothing happened, but I'm savouring having this small window of time where I have the house to myself, I even took a few days of paid leave from work starting tomorrow that I had saved up just to really enjoy the peace and quiet.

Currently though, I'm trying to eat my toast  and mind my own business, sitting on the couch, which isn't going well.

I have a pair of eyes glued to me, with a wheezing snout about an inch from my face watching my hand move to and from my mouth each time I take a bite.

I glance sideways, as I take a slow bite into my half eaten slice of peanut butter toast, chewing as I watch Gizmo stare at me with eyes that look like he belongs on one of those ads on TV for starving children in third world countries.

"Fine" I mutter in defeat, handing him my toast which he inhales - not chews. Inhales.

Like I said, I'd starve for this dog.

I'm undecided about what to do until I have to start getting ready for work, but as I stare around the house I figure I may as well clean, I don't have much energy for it any more.

Just opening my eyes of a morning seems far too overwhelming, and mundane daily tasks become the monumental mountains towering over me that seem impossible to climb.

I remember a time when things like doing dishes, or making myself food didn't seem like the equivalent of trying to rip my own fingernails off, just thinking about it seems to drain the energy I already don't have.

I suppose it doesn't help when I have the person living with me that's like a vampire that solely thrives on sucking any motivation or energy I have - feasting on it until she's engorged and bloated while I'm left emaciated and emotionally crippled, in her eyes, my only purpose of existing is to do what she wants, to serve her.

I am in debt and owe her my life because she gave mine to me, I'm hers, I don't belong to myself.

It's hard to find meaning or a point in existing when you were never given any self worth or reason to be here aside from benefiting someone else.

Gotta love mothers.

I get to be free briefly this week though, that's all I can really focus on for now.

I pull up off the couch, Gizmo immediately sniffing where I was sat to scour for any crumb I may have dropped, I swear if it wasn't for his weight people would think I don't feed him with how he carries on.

I go to the stereo, deciding I need some kind of musical motivation to get shit done around here and connect my phone to the Bluetooth, selecting one of the many playlists I spend way too much time curating.

I take my playlists very seriously, it's a thing, can't help it.

I turn the volume up, listening to the music fill the air and it's like instantly everything else in my mind gets washed away and I get lost in the song - but how couldn't I?

It's Bohemian Rhapsody.

I walk around the loungeroom, instantly singing way too obnoxiously for someone that can't hold a note better than a dying cat, and that's dressed in just a shirt and fluffy slippers with dog heads on them.