People would often say you're tough...
People would often say, "You're tough." Many times I wanted to say
"You don't know the half of it." I may have a tough exterior: inside I'm still that little girl who would once sit in her favourite tree in a place she called Alice's wonderland, with only birds for company. Looking at myself in the mirror my eyes are weary and tired. I paint my face like painting a blank canvas. I use the tricks of the trade to hide the pain behind them, only the pain is too deep. "Come on, Diane. Get a grip," I told myself sternly.
I gave myself thoughts for worry as I walked to work, reflecting on things that made me feel anxious and ill at ease. I found it difficult to breathe: I almost felt that I had a panic attack coming on. Tears fell once again, giving tell-tale signs of my anxiety, my grief and my pain. I had to pull myself together before facing my work colleagues: I would always be the first to say that you must leave your troubles outside the door before starting your shift. When entering it didn't help when Julie said, "You've got such sad eyes."
Pulling my shoulders and lifting my head up I got myself in order for my night shift.
Aching, tired, and ready for my bed, I let myself in the front door to find total disarray. A broken cabinet and a broken back door panel was what I was forced to face. I was too afraid to climb the stairs to see what chaos was waiting for me up there.
While out working I had been burgled. Shocked and sickened to the core I dialled 999. The place where I felt I could hide my demons had been vandalised and tarnished. I could hear the the rustle of fallen leaves. With the bottom half of the door destroyed the room was open now to the elements of all weather conditions.