A little too little ✔️

Chapter 3

I don't know if it's the sorriness I felt for myself that got me off bed, but I'm thankful for it. I got up and cleaned around, starting with taking the majestic wedding photo down. I know I would have to eventually move out of the apartment, because it is too much. I just am not quite ready to let go. I don't think I'll ever be.  So too much it is, until I figure myself out.

After moving some things around, I had the first shower I'd had in weeks. I scrubbed all of my pain and anger, and it went down the drain in the form of soap and water. The hotness of the bath drew me in and relaxed the muscles that were tensed for weeks on end. The bubbles were light on my skin, which is a bit yellowish due to the lack of my nutrition. I felt totally and completely soothed when I got out. I put on some body oil which unblocked my inflamed nose that was apparently fed up from all the crying.

Shortly after I got dressed, my doorbell rang and my chest heaved. I was torn in between hiding in the bathroom and walking up to that door and slamming it open. Then, I realized this might not be him. It might be anyone, yes, it could be anyone else. The thought scared me even more because I'd already talked to my coworkers before taking a break, and they'd already given the sympathetic smile and the head nod. So what would I do if someone managed to get in without ringing?  The bell rang again and I hesitated to go forth towards it, but I found my feet moving on their own. Slowly and without much noise, I reached the door and looked through the peephole, then I felt my heart shatter.

I know I was despondent during the past while, but this- this was complete despair. This was my heart refusing to beat any more. This was me fracturing all over again. This was my worst doubt come alive; this was a nightmare featuring my insecurities. Hurt is too little a word to describe how I felt —I was devastated. The doorbell rang the third time about an hour ago before the unwanted visitor left a message slid in from beneath the door. I couldn't bring myself to look. I just couldn't. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't even breathe. I fell down in a thud and started rasping for air. In the matter of seconds, I began to shake mildly and I felt the heat in my body rise. I was having yet another panic attack.

I can't tell how long it lasted this time, but it must've been less than an hour given the time between the shower ending and now. I get these episodes more frequently now than ever in relation to how disastrously I'm handling the divorce. I'm too agitated to visit our therapist due to the nostalgia that I associate with her office. I can't go on to another therapist either because that feels like moving on, and I said, I told you: I'm not ready to go on. I'm not ready to leave what we had behind. I never was as strong as he is.

You see, I'm not quite the writer, but putting this down on paper makes me feel better. It makes me feel alive. It makes me feel like I'm a part of the world even if I were just ink on paper. So, now that I'm calm, I'm thinking about checking that note. I remember the face of the person that rang my bell and I feel so violated. Out of all the people he could've sent to me, I don't understand why he sent his secretary. I will never understand why he chose to send her when he knows. He knows how inadequate I felt compared to  her. He knows that she made me feel little and unimportant. It makes me wonder if they're together now and I ache with longing for something I don't understand.