Remember… That You Are Nothing
I’ve just had a visit from my pseudo Mother-in-Law, henceforth known as PMIL. It’s Monday morning, but the fact that I have to work doesn’t seem to matter. I work from home you see and that doesn’t count.
We sit in the living room and her voice washes over me. She speaks of her grandchildren, nails, holiday, kitchen, diet, Simon, Clare, Sam, Eva and Lucy. It’s almost as if she sees silence as ungodly and has to fill it with words. I feel like I’m trapped underwater and wonder if this is what it feels like to be dead.
I click the beads on my bracelet one by one, trying to do it silently and fight the urge to flick the ends of my fingers. My breathing changes when she mentions someone’s autistic child. I haven’t told her you see.
I hear some song lyrics over and over again in my head, singing ‘remember…that you are nothing’.