Secrets for the Mad

The glass is on the floor; there’s water everywhere

‘No,’ I yelped. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t strong enough.
But this was it. We clung to each other and cried loudly as I tried to take on the weight of reality in my brain. There was so much guilt, regret and anger. My last visit had been two weeks ago. Why hadn’t I been in for so long? Did I tell her all the things I wanted her to know? Why didn’t I say goodbye?
We drove home, and I shouted at God in my head. ‘Why would you do this? I hate you. I begged you for it to be okay and you gave me nothing.’

Men enjoyed leaning and talking over me in meetings, or spewing out information about topics I wasn’t interested in and didn’t care to know much about. I felt stupid because I was being made to feel stupid.