The ghosts have been stirred up in the house on the hill.
They are doing what ghosts do - haunting... trailing in the ether, their agitation quivering tangibly in the air.
Things - stuff, photos, books, clothes, memories...- get sorted, keep, give away, chuck.
Tears get shed, memories get disturbed from where I have tucked them away tight out of sight, shrunk to something tiny, small, insignificant...
My breath gets stuck in my throat, getting caught behind the lump that grows there when anxiety is rife in my blood...
My mind stumbles over every thought - stare blankly at the screen as it waits for my password, I can't remember it. I remember the first letter, the last three - but not all of it...
Two voices speak inside my head - the rational one that understands the biological process involved with what is going on with me right now, and the irrational one that speaks unspeakable things. And so the battle ensues...
I have made an appointment with my doctor and counsellor. I know how to take care of myself says the rational voice. The irrational one screams "BY WHY THE FUCK DO I EVEN HAVE TO?!"
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