I am scared to leave the bedroom.
I have hidden the car keys.
Slipping back into the compulsive habits of checking my hair and skin every time it feels like more than a minute has passed. (has it?)
Checking all online media and the cell phone for unknown communications. Checking the usual hiding places for blades or pills.
Habits left over from a girl who learned to survive. The others I’m sure wouldn’t call me that. I’m the part usually overlooked. Much dismissed.
I bring the clocks out and set them around the bedroom. Make sure the batteries are fresh. I can accept the lost time, but I at least want to account for it.
A good six hours gone today. Sucked into the curling smoke of nothing. In fractions and fragments. Nothing seems to be more than 30 minutes. Here and there.
I keep checking to make sure items stay in their hiding places. I keep checking the skin and taking blood pressure. So far no more than bruises and scratches. That I can handle. And the blood pressure is not ideal, but it is not hospital-level. I am determined.
Though I have just as much of a desire to stay far away from doctors while we are like this, I have no desire to put us in direct harm. I am not a suicidal part.
I remain as vigilant as I can for those that are.