Giraffey
Your Orange Crush
- Mar 7, 2020
- 439
I suddenly awoke with a feeling that something wasn't quite right. The air was thick and molten, each gasping breath scorched my lungs and brought me chokingly closer to hell. I bolted upright as the acid rose from my stomach and greeted my oesophagus with a searing kiss of fire. My stomach writhed and undulated, expelling thunderous rumbles as iron fists gripped my intestines with daggered fingers. Tortured by agonous spectres of yesterday afternoon, I imploded, and reality leaked from my punctured conscious as I finally faded to black. This was the moment the death of my daughter struck me, the moment my life came to an end - metaphorically, if only physically too.
It has been two years now since I lost her, every day I ask myself - will it finally stop raining?
Were that to be the only tragedy of my life perhaps I would not be so piteous, intent on ending this accursed existence. But that was regrettably not the passing of the storm. I am now twenty-six and work in television. You wouldn't recognise me, thankfully. I am behind the camera, where my frequently lugubrious countenance is affectionately termed 'eccentric'. It is a career I love although I am lucky still to have it.
How does it feel to beg for your life? Knelt at the foot of an ex-partner and a looming pane of glass poised above my head executioner style, I discovered the answer to this for myself. Humiliating.
Once I garnered the confidence to leave, the beatings stopped. I was never again going to tolerate her psychotic beastliness, so she turned her attention to the internet. Intimate photographs of me, the lascivious kind, were shared around the world alongside my name, address and social media. I had no idea that there would be so much interest in the exploits of my unsightly body, but from beyond the shield of the screen, the cruellest of internet demons reared their fetid heads and delighted in the annihilation of my dignity.
A few months later, I met my soulmate. But what the universe giveth, the universe taketh away. My ex-partner struck again. It was too much for the lady I was with, and my one chance at a new beginning dissolved as quickly as my reasons to continue living.
Finally, a close friend of mine passed away this month. He was in the public eye so I shall be vague, but I knew him both on and off the screen. We bonded over shared pain, much of which he spoke of publically, some he confided to only his closest friends. In one final, twisted act of karmic cruelty, I missed his funeral due to illness.
Every man has his limit, and I truly believe that I have reached mine. My demons are shouting ever louder, and the once vociferous cries of my beseeching angels cracking, defeated. I am alone, stood at the platform as the tannoy shrieks into life - the last train home has been cancelled, forever.
I have decided to give myself just one final month before I catch the bus and alight directly into the umbriferous cuddle of the infinite midnight. I am so sorry that this story reads so piteously, so pathetically, so undeserving of your time - there is inherent selfishness to self-expression that I am too weak a writer to escape. But if you have followed my post this far and resisted the urge to throw up over my lachrymal stream of consciousness, thank you. I suspect it is now painfully obvious why I lack friends, but I hope that perhaps I may be lucky enough to find a few on this journey.
I am contented knowing that in just a months time, my pain will, at last, come to an end. I shall heal or escape, either way, I shall suffer no longer.
It has been two years now since I lost her, every day I ask myself - will it finally stop raining?
Were that to be the only tragedy of my life perhaps I would not be so piteous, intent on ending this accursed existence. But that was regrettably not the passing of the storm. I am now twenty-six and work in television. You wouldn't recognise me, thankfully. I am behind the camera, where my frequently lugubrious countenance is affectionately termed 'eccentric'. It is a career I love although I am lucky still to have it.
How does it feel to beg for your life? Knelt at the foot of an ex-partner and a looming pane of glass poised above my head executioner style, I discovered the answer to this for myself. Humiliating.
Once I garnered the confidence to leave, the beatings stopped. I was never again going to tolerate her psychotic beastliness, so she turned her attention to the internet. Intimate photographs of me, the lascivious kind, were shared around the world alongside my name, address and social media. I had no idea that there would be so much interest in the exploits of my unsightly body, but from beyond the shield of the screen, the cruellest of internet demons reared their fetid heads and delighted in the annihilation of my dignity.
A few months later, I met my soulmate. But what the universe giveth, the universe taketh away. My ex-partner struck again. It was too much for the lady I was with, and my one chance at a new beginning dissolved as quickly as my reasons to continue living.
Finally, a close friend of mine passed away this month. He was in the public eye so I shall be vague, but I knew him both on and off the screen. We bonded over shared pain, much of which he spoke of publically, some he confided to only his closest friends. In one final, twisted act of karmic cruelty, I missed his funeral due to illness.
Every man has his limit, and I truly believe that I have reached mine. My demons are shouting ever louder, and the once vociferous cries of my beseeching angels cracking, defeated. I am alone, stood at the platform as the tannoy shrieks into life - the last train home has been cancelled, forever.
I have decided to give myself just one final month before I catch the bus and alight directly into the umbriferous cuddle of the infinite midnight. I am so sorry that this story reads so piteously, so pathetically, so undeserving of your time - there is inherent selfishness to self-expression that I am too weak a writer to escape. But if you have followed my post this far and resisted the urge to throw up over my lachrymal stream of consciousness, thank you. I suspect it is now painfully obvious why I lack friends, but I hope that perhaps I may be lucky enough to find a few on this journey.
I am contented knowing that in just a months time, my pain will, at last, come to an end. I shall heal or escape, either way, I shall suffer no longer.
