Just like when I lived with my mum, my surroundings resemble my internal feelings. A fucking mess.
Honestly my flat is a pigsty, and has been for nearly 2 weeks. I’ve been living on my hard mouldy sofa, which is fixated in front of the TV, which lives through The News, a Hollyoaks Omnibus and Jeremy Kyle USA.
I can’t remember the last time I went to college. Neither could they, as my senior pastoral manager hasn’t returned any of my calls.
“Hi, my name is Ebony Montague. I’m a student at the college – can you put me through to Mr. H’s secretary?”
“Hi, it’s Ebony Montague (again). Is Mr. H available?”
Of course he isn’t. He’s a teacher. He also wasn’t paid to chase up students with long-term illnesses.
“Would you like me to take a message?”
Yeah, tell him to just give up. Tell him to stop trying to get me into college, stop trying to get me on track to actually finish my A levels because it’s not working. 3 years later and none of this is working.
No. Just tell him I rang.
I punch in the red button and slump back into the sofa. I’m hungry but nothing is in the fridge, and a concoction can’t be made from whatever is in the cupboards.
I’m tired, but I’ve slept over 10 hours and it’s getting dark outside. 2 weeks now and here I was with only a double-bill of Storage Hunters and my roll ups to keep me company.
The phone shook violently and the vibration made that annoying short-lived noise. The screen read “New Message Received: Mum”.
“Just got letta frm college, y u nt been goin in! what r u doin afta college? r u goin uni?”
Oh god. Not now.
I throw the phone on the table. I can’t be bothered explaining myself.
I hadn’t showered for a while, so I probably stank as much as I reeked self-pity. ‘d already been called up on this, and as much as I smiled and laughed at myself, I was shrugging on the inside. What did it matter? Just allow me to be depressed and sad already
I just didn’t understand why I couldn’t be like everyone else. In the sense of being capable of making it through a full day, being capable of not always drowning in fatigue and just being normal.
And yeah, I had some how managed to crawl through the front door, exchange few words to people and do something constructive with my days (like wash a fork to eat my take-away with). It just wasn’t enough, I was still mentally ill and in my eyes, it was just getting worse.
10 more hours pass and the phone goes again.
“Look ebony i dnt care what u do as long as ur happy! Love Mum xx”
Thanks, but I don’t know what to do, and I’m not happy.
Thanks, love you too.