God Damn Hashtag.

God Damn non- disclosure too.

It isn’t like I have all that much to say (#BlatantLie) but signing something, as a chatty, loud,  gossip loving writer, that legally stipulates you are unable to share on a subject I believe most of you would find very interesting (very interesting indeed), under penalty of litigation (#What’sLitigation?) well it’s like having your fingertips cut off.

I’d still try and type with my nubs though.

#Sexynubs.

Just saying.

When did it all get so scary?

I arrived late for my weekly therapy session tonight.

This much I am able to say.

#Gasp.

I was late as ironically, (NOT, - just to be clear – Alanis Morissette Irony. No, I mean proper Irony. With all due respect Alanis, Ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife, is just not Ironic. Bad luck, sure. But ironic? No. And also Alanis? Ever heard of the hashtag #FirstWorldProblems?  Again #Just Sayin) I was very nearly arrested as I was caught doing 90 while texting (here comes the actual ironic bit) James (my therapist,) to tell him I was probably going to be late.

#IWasntReallyDoing90

#ItWasMoreLike70.

I am sorry I was late.

I am sorry I am late.

I am sorry.

Sorry.

‘I enjoy our sessions, I look forward to seeing you.’

#AhForTheLoveOfGodDon’tSayThat.

Hashtag; Squirm.

Hashtag; Lets change the subject.

‘Why do you think you have such a problem with me saying I like you Lexy?’

‘Sorry James, was I not squirmy enough for you then, you bloody git? Here, let me try again.’

I didn’t actually say that.

Well, I did.

Just not out loud.

He likes me.

Unfortunately he did say that, out loud too.

‘I like you.’

I nearly spat my coffee all over him in disgust.

(Actually, while we are on the subject of coffee, can I just tell you? My coffee was still toasty warm, even though it was at least 45 minutes old. Thermos’s rule! Wait, Thermoses, Thermos’ What is the past tense or plural of Thermos? Thermii? Anyway. I have a posh new Thermos. And it Rocks.)

So basically he nearly got burnt.

What on earth?

Why would anyone ever actually say that to someone?

I mean c’mon! 

Hashtag; Uncomfortable cough.

Hashtag; Squirm again.

Hashtag; I have no control over my face.

‘Stay with it.’ he warns with supportive pleading undertones.

Does that make sense? His warning but also careful pleads?

He wants me to approach.

I can feel the warmth in his voice, the support, the care, the gentle kindness that seems to radiate all around him, fall from him as he walks.

I can hear, feel, almost touch, the respect he has for me, the protectiveness, the encouragement, the empathy.

The affection.

And. It. Makes. Me. Want. To. Push. Him. Off. A. Cliff.

He is like a walking, talking, real life version, of the first verse of Adele’s Can you feel my love.

You know the song right?

Except he has arms and legs, and a body.

That is probably the most descriptive I have ever been of James isn’t it?

I respect his privacy too you know.

But I would still rather vomit for a million years than be held by his caring gaze, for even one.

#MetaphoricalHoldingSucksArseTooDude.

‘I hate this part of Therapy. The part where you actually make me work.’

He smiles slowly and carefully.

If there was a hook, I would definitely still be on it.

If he had a hashtag right now it would read #CarryOnSucker.

Ignored and foiled again with a tilt of his chin, his god damn agonising attentiveness.

Hashtag; For Fucks Sake.

‘It’s odd. It is a physical reaction mostly.’

I carry on, although painful.

Excruciating.

Nails on a warm piece of paper.

(Like – Down a blackboard but worse. No? Just me then?)

He nods, so slightly, you may have missed it.

I didn’t.

He is actually listening.

Actually meaning to.

I notice these things.

‘At times I feel as if I have no control over the defence mechanisms. Back The Fuck Off My ribcage seems to scream when someone gets too close. It stands itself to attention without instruction from my brain. A gut reaction that ultimately and unwittingly, now I come to think of it, has me sticking my boobs in the faces of people who want to care…. Awesome.’

I guess my ribcage is a little like that Eddie Izzard sketch about the Corinthians.

OverZealous.

Have you ever seen it?

Do you even know what a Corinthian is? 

I don’t either to be honest, but it’s fine.

It’s still funny.

‘What do you want?’ 

‘Peace please.’ 

‘And when you do you want it?’ 

‘NOWWWWWWW MOOOTHERRRFUCCCKKKERRRRR!’ 

I didn’t say that to him.

Well I did.

Just not out loud.

But you know what I mean right?

My mind and body are juxtaposed.

Hang on, I am losing my thread.

Could I hashtag my idiotic issues do you think?

#UnwantedPanicButton

Hashtag; Not a double entendre.

‘Why wouldn’t I enjoy you Lexy?’

#OhForTheLoveOfGod.

Hashtag; Are you still here?

‘Because I don’t want you to enjoy me.’

Why can’t you just be normal James?

‘It is ok that you are late Lexy, as I James, am paid to be here until 8 o’clock.’

Just say that Dude. Be normal. 

I do NOT want to know that you would choose to stay.

For me.

Your own choice.

To spend time with me. 

#Shudder.

#BoobsInYourFace

I do not want you, or anyone, to want to spend time with me.

It creates an uncomfortable silence that resonates so deep in to the base of my being, my spine, it has me rearing up in anger and wanting to beat the shit out of my car.

Like a bad ass.

#JustDoIt.

#GodDamnHashtagAlreadyInUse.

Hashtag; Run Motherfucker. Corinthian. Run. No such thing as peace. 

‘Try and stay with the emotion, what causes this.’

‘I don’t know why I feel like this James.’

#RookieMistake.

‘Never Why. Forget the Why. It sends you round in circles. Ask What? Who? How.’

#NeverAskWhyOkIGetIt.

I know why though.

I know what.

I can physically recoil, jump, feel sick, scream long in to the night, from this illness alone. 

It’s Panic stations.

I suffer with anxiety.

Will I act weird?

Freak you out?

Lose control?

Let you down?

Have I annoyed you?

Upset you?

Irritated you?

I feel like a dog.

With a bit around her throat and bruises in her blood current.

Infection everywhere.

I hate the swell of panic before the crash of paranoia. 

It is lingering there, everywhere.

Like a Horse from the starting gate. 

#Bolt.

Is the silhouette of Apprehension lingering?

Leaving?

Or Lurking.

With intent.

‘All things end Yeah? I will disappoint. I am a flake. That’s all. I would rather have no friends than make a fool of myself, have no care than end up being labelled a drama queen or Selfish. It is self preservation.’

I will run.

I would rather run, not go out, not join in.

#CornflakeGirl

#EnoughNow.

All this before the God Damn half way point.

#ThankGodIWasLate.

And Now?

I am hanging out to dry.

Too personal for a tag, I shall Resonate. Evoke.

Un-break piece at a time.  

Curb it’s enthusiasm.

If that’s possible.

#TheFatLadyIsSinging.

But I don’t want you to Adele.

Not right now.

#IveBeenWalkingInTheSameWayAsIAlwaysDid

So what do you want Lexy?’

‘A glass of wine please.’

And When do you want it Lexy?’

‘Now Motherrrfuckkkkkkkker!!’

#TheEnd.

*And also Alanis? The advice you just didn’t take? That ride you paid for and then found out was free? Not Irony. But yes, Life does have a funny way of sneaking up on you when think every things ok and blowing up in your face. I’ll give you that.

One response to “God Damn Hashtag.

  1. My god Lexi your way of explaining this is just… it’s so spot on. I was crippled with anxiety in my early teens, and you’ve just described it to a tee. (to a T? tea? no idea)
    Also, tough shit, cause I care. x

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