Please

 It is a word I've been using a lot.

Please.

"Please don't do this, please don't be angry, please hear me, please help me".

The pattern is old and entrenched, and I am well into despair. Please don't do this, is when he puts on his coat and says, his voice quiet and low

 "I'm going". 

That is when the tsunami of panic hits me and I shatter. At this point I will not, cannot let go of him. I hold onto his legs, I am hysterical. He says - voice controlled, quiet and low:

"let go, fuck off, just get off me" 

I'm dissolving in terror. 

His tone becomes more angry

He shouts at me

"I can't even leave my own house, fucking hell, just fuck off!"

My eyes are shut, I'm holding on to the fracturing edge of the universe. I'm holding onto nothing, no one. No hand reaches out. No kind word is given. Between my arms, he is nothing except a tiny shard of mirror glass. Hologrammatically it contains all my memory of love. It fixes me above psychic dismemberment and crushing, I taste my blood, my absolute ending. I am hanging above slow grinding cog wheels into which I will fall if I let go.

I cannot let go...

The end of pain is nothing to fear, end of all hurt. He isn't that kind of man, he doesn't hit me, he wont kill me. And I will not let go, and this is making him hate me. I wish he would kill me - then I'd be safe. I wouldn't be making it worse. 

How did it come to this. 

Why did I say the wrong thing. 

I should not, must never speak... 

Now only death is safe, the absence of making it worse. And now is not safe, nothing is safe.

Grief overwhelms me. I give up. Black despair slows my heart, I crawl as if through air as thick as mud, back upstairs. Lights off. Into the dark where I crouch, on my knees, head to the floor trying so hard to be as small as I can. Unseen. Silent. Trying not to drown in my tears, and to not make a sound.

Please don't be angry comes before. 

I am not hysterical yet.

I'm not in terror. 

I know that if he speaks to me with disdain and voice full of warnings I am going to start keening, I cry as if bereft, a woman weeping for her lost love. I cannot understand what has happened, who took my beloved from me? Why is this man treating me in such a cold, cruel way? 

I say,

"Please, don't talk to me in that way" 

He walks away.

That's when grief overwhelms me.

And so dear reader, this is a postcard from Hell. I've been camped here, slowly traveling closer and closer to the inner circle of my own psychosis since May. There are reasons. The main reason why I'm here, describing as bad as it gets.

I need to recognize this

I need to describe it for myself, to myself.

I need to know how bad this actually is...