Page 59 of Sad Girl Hours
On paper, I had a lovely day with Nell yesterday. We made delicious pancakes, she organised the scavenger hunt in the woods, we picked pumpkins, then we met up with the others in the evening. We gave out sweets to a dozen adorable tiny trick-or-treaters (and some less adorable teenage ones). I got the leftover sweets (and Nell paid for both our pumpkins after I won the scavenger hunt, which I suspect she rigged) and we ate them as we watchedThe Nightmare Before Christmasto ‘mark the transition from spooky season to festive season’ (Nell’s words). Jenna and Casper cooked up some Halloween-themed cocktails that Vivvie garnished with edible floating eyeballs.
Again itsoundsdreamy. But lately I feel like all the good times I have just seem to complicate things even more, everything a double-edged sword.
Now it’s Monday morning and I’m lying in bed, running over everything that happened yesterday, all the loveliness, all the lies. Every day I spend with Nell, I feel a little more like things are getting out of hand.
I feel certain things sometimes with her. Things I’m not allowed to feel.
I have an exam on Friday and we have a mandatory session this morning to go over some of the trickier maths that’ll be on the paper and look over the coursework we’ve been doing with our tutors, except…
Everything feels heavy today. My limbs as they lie here in my bed, the darkness leaching around my room and into my brain. I woke up an hour ago and immediately burst into tears.
I have an hour to get dressed, eat breakfast and walk over to the science buildings. We were warned that they’d be strictly monitoring attendance of the session so I know I need to go.
But the more I think about how Ineedto go, the less I feel able to. I don’t really feel able to doanything.There are so many steps. It’s not just getting dressed and eating breakfast and getting the bus over to campus. It’s getting out of bed, walking to the bathroom, brushing my teeth, brushing my hair, deciding what clothes to wear, putting make-up on to cover over how tired I look – which in itself has about ten steps – putting the clothes on, going downstairs, assembling my breakfast, eating it, putting my shoes on, walking to the bus stop, deciding which bus to take, and on and on and on…
A message pops up on my phone while I’m staring at the clock. It’s Vivvie in the house group chat.
Vivvie really isn’t a morning person and watching her transform from someone so full of ire and hate to someone raring to go as the black coffee courses through her veins is always fun. She’s like some kind of superhero whose kryptonite is not having caffeine in her system.
Still. Not today, I think. I really don’t feel hungry. Or thirsty. Or anything, really.
And I still don’t feel anything until 10 a.m. comes and goes and I stay stuck in bed. Then I feel a lot of things. Guilt, anxietyover what the consequences will be for missing the session, sadness that I’m letting everyone (including myself) down.
The coils of my spiral downwards grow tighter and tighter over the morning. I feel like they’re wrapping around my body, making me feel less able to get out of bed, even as the thought grows that I need to,I need to,I need to.
We’re all busy for the rest of the week. Nell’s got deadlines and coursework to do. Jenna’s got the winter showcase to prep for. Vivvie’s got her dress for the fashion show in January to finish. Casp and I have exams at the end of the week that we’re revising for. Or, rather, Casper’s revising. I’m hiding in my room, staring at the wall behind my desk where my textbook’s lying open, the paper warped from my pathetic tears.
Revision is a good excuse to hide away from the others. But Casper insists we go out for a run together. He says he needs it and we do normally go at least once a week so I don’t feel as though I can say no. Vivvie gets the crochet stuff out for us to do on Wednesday evening after she’s made us all dinner – tamales that her parents brought on their way past us to their anniversary trip in the Lake District, including a tub markedvegetarianafor me. I’m quiet throughout dinner. That’s now both Nell and Vivvie’s parents who’ve sent something special just for me.
Last Christmas, my parents ‘forgot’ that I’ve been vegetarian for seven years and just cooked a turkey.
I shouldn’t complain really, and I didn’t at the time. I still had something to eat – the potatoes and vegetables. And yet every bite I took of the tamales that Vivvie’s parents had made just for me stuck in the back of my throat, mingling with the threat of tears welling up there.
Thursday. I stare at my textbook again for four hours in the afternoon until an inf lux of comments on one of my videos alerts me to the fact that one of them has gone slightly viral again: the one I made of Nell dressing me up in her clothes. She whips round her room, picking out selections. I spin in dresses, do a silly little dance in those trousers that looked so ridiculous on me. All the comments are much the same.
So CUTE
You both look so good omg
These outfits are giving EVERYTHING
You’re like the perfect cottagecore/light academia dream couple
We’re not a couple, I want to reply. She deserves far better than me. Even though in a clip on the end you can still see the warmth that had flooded my body when she looked right at me as she changed and I imagined what it might be like to touch that bare skin with her gaze still on me.
Friday. Exam day and also Bonfire Nigh, meaning I’m going tohaveto leave the house and spend time with my friends.
As soon as the realisation hits that I’m awake and I have to face another day, I close my eyes again, trying to will myself to fall asleep. I try to cocoon myself back in the comfort of nothingness – no overthinking, no lying to my friends and saying that I’m just stressed with revision, that I ate earlier, that I’mdefinitelyup for plans that Idefinitelywon’t cancel.
Ican’tstay in bed today, though. If I don’t do this exam (or if I fail it), then there’s a chance I’ll be kicked off my course. Physics is such a competitive subject and I’ve already had to fight to gethere, and then all of us scant few women in the room have to fight against the rampant sexism and work even harder to prove ourselves. If I don’t do well, then I won’t just be letting myself down (and potentially wrecking my chances of my dream career, condemning myself to living in my parents’ house and being miserable forever), I’ll also be letting down everyone else who’s ever had to beg for a chance. I can’t just give it all away.
When do manage to drag my leaden body out of bed, I see in my mirror, fairy lights strewn around it, that I look … well. Like shit.
There’s a piece of the dark side of the moon under each of my eyes. I look gaunter than usual, like there are extra angles on my face where there used to be softness. I’m not great at remembering to eat when I feel like this, when I feel like I’ve lost my appetite for life itself, never mind for actual food.
I gather what I hope is a passable outfit. Usually, I enjoy putting together my clothes – I’m not good at art like Vivvie, I don’t really wear bright statement pieces like Jenna, but I know how to put together an assortment of things that make it at least look like I know what I’m doing. Whether it’s a seventies ensemble, flares and vintage tee, or a softer look, a baggy silk shirt, my favourite jeans, lots of layered gold jewellery and a bandana resting over my loose curls.
Today, I pick up my jeans (that could really do with a wash) and a hand-made jumper that just about passes the sniff test – though I spritz myself with perfume anyway.
