Sunday, 4 September 2011

Oh god, why are the panic attacks worse on less morphine? And why do they suddenly have to stop being about some nameless, faceless terror, and start being about my dad?

I can hear him coming in the back door, talking to my mum, opening the lounge door. I can feel him coming up the stairs to my room, opening the door, walking in. I can feel him touching me, forcing me to do things. My mouth. My throat is closing up and I want to hurl. I can't breathe. I'm shaking.

Christ, has this night not been bad enough? How much is one person supposed to bear?

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