“By the time you read these words, I probably will be gone…”
In the middle of the night I wake up. I’m shaking. With a tearful grimace, I am trying to sink back into the dream saving me from reality at least for a while.
Mom, mom, don’t call me. Don’t come into my room. I do not want to eat. I’m not going anywhere today. I will lie like this under the covers, with my face turned to the wall, and sobbing. Let the tears choke me. I want to cry out all my tears.
The helpline is 999-99-33. I’ll call, this is my last hope.
Once I overheard this number and wrote it down by inertia. And now the moment has come to use it.
“Girl, and did you have such a situation… When, on the contrary, you had to tell someone you didn’t need him? Although you knew you were hurting him by saying this? ” a professional psychologist asks me.
She is calm. She is completely calm.
“I have … ” I’m starting to remember.
A woman on the other end waits patiently. This is her job.
“Well, now you see, girl! So you also had such a situation! And now you’ve kind of changed roles. So that…”
So that… Don’t worry! Be happy!
Someone, – it seems, it was Alex – said in such cases you needed to take several pils of demerol at once, and then it would all be over.
I will be lying on the bed, crying and imagining I will call him from the telephone box, say I will kill myself, and then take out the pills brought in advance and swallow it.”
It was quote from “Serious Relations” (The Unbearable Longing of the Flesh Book 2)
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