Thought I'd share this with you.
Today, I left the office @ 12 h 30 in a rush, just in time to avoid making a complete fool of myself in front of all the weirdos who work there. (Yes, I know I'm part of them) I am having a bit of a nervous breakdown, to say the least. It hasn't happened to me in a while, but today, it hit. Hard.
A downer. A depressive wave.
Yeah, one of those.
Before collapsing in a pool of tears for no apparent reason, Bridges logged out her computer, walked diligently to her bosse's office, said she wasn't feeling well, and calmly walked out of there. In the elevator, down from the 5th to the first, through the opening doors, then rushing to her car. She drove back home like a mad woman, trying not to give in to the wave that was hitting her. Tears obstructed her view, but she knew the way pretty well. Plus, there was a whole box of kleenex next to her so she could wipe her snotty face. Disproportioned thoughts ran through her mind as she was zooming across the Champlain bridge : The gorgeous RCMP officer from Nova-Scotia she had snuggled to over the weekend who wasn't calling her back; her kids away for the whole week; her thesis that was left behind a few weeks ago; her crappy documents that revisors covered in red. And purple. And green. And him.
Mr. Fuckface.
As soon as she got home, Bridges ran upstairs, took the phone in her hands, jumped into bed and frantically dialed the number. What time is it in England now? She thought. Who cares. He'll pick up.
-Why did you leave - why are you such an idiot - why aren't you coming back - why don't you love me - WHY DOESN'T ANYBODY LOVE ME???
-I don't know-I don't know - I can't - I do love you - You're the greatest person in the world, I...
Bridges smashed the cordless phone against the wall in a fit of rage.
Then she cried for two whole hours, until she had to stop out of exhaustion. She then got painfully out of bed, still sobbing, then came down the stairs. Bridges sat in front of her computer and started writing. Anything, really. Anything to forget she had just made a fool out of herself, to...herself.
I wish somebody could make me some tea.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Bridges kicked off the pedestal
Scribbled madly by Bridges @ 2:52 PM
Labels, love Candid Bridges
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2 people had something to say:
I wish I could make you a cuppa, my dear... Je ne suis pas en meilleur état que toi, je pense...
Il y a des soirs où je capote, je me mets à pleurer, je me roule en boule dans mon lit et j'ai peur d'une peur tellement plus grande que moi que je n'imagine pas pouvoir me lever le lendemain. Je finis par m'endormir d'épuisement au milieu de la nuit et quand je me lève, c'est comme si j'avais juste fait un cauchemar. Je me sens normale. De toute façon, faut que je travaille.
Et quand la noirceur revient, ça repart pour un tour dans ma tête...
Blues, je sais à quoi ça ressemble, ce cauchemar...quand je me suis séparée la première fois, il fallait que je me roule un ptit pétard pour pouvoir enfin dormir un peu, et calmer cette angoisse qui ne lâche pas prise, cette solitude qui avale tout sur son passage, qui semble plus forte que tout, pour ne réaliser que finalement, au petit matin, ce n'est pas si pire...c'est les montagnes russes, finalement....
Je pense souvent à toi, à Paris, et je me dis Ottawa, Paris, Montréal, Londres....c'est du pareil au même, quand la nuit tombe et qu'on est seule, c'est le même rayon de lune qui nous empêche toutes de sombrer.
Je t'embrasse, je pense à toi, et...je te fais une ptite tasse de thé?
xxx
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