Saturday, March 8, 2014
I thought, I would let you all know, how it feels for me, when someone shows their direct, or indirect annoyance, or anger towards me. No matter, how gentle you are, the fact you are angry, will speak louder, than the gentleness of the voice. Anxious memories Samantha, can we have a word? is always the phrase I dread. The sudden opening of a door, the slam, Or the footsteps of someone’s brisk walk. Their walking becoming nearer, and nearer. Their breathing slightly louder, and faster than normal. My breathing slightly shallower, and quicker than theirs. The room becomes icey cold, the warmth gone, disappeared like a puff of smoke. Oh here we go. This is it. The blow that I was destined. Every footstep is an effort, every breath slightly harder, and can be heard, in my oversensitive ears, movement is slower and restrained, every heartbeat, growing louder, and faster. Mouth becoming dry, as we walk, leaving where ever I was, probably quietly getting on with work, or relaxing. No time for relaxing now. No time for chilling. Unless you count the chill in the air. We may, or may not, walk to an corridor, with an echo. The corridor, is vast, and wide. Every sound overhead, making me startled. My stomach tingles, and I feel my body jump slightly. I shake, as I stand, or sit, routed to the spot, waiting, waiting for the blow to hit. Then the voice, loud and strong, shouting as loud as it ever has. Probably telling me off for something random. I don’t care. All I want is out, out of there. The person leans over me, or stands close to me, firmly speaking to the echos all around. Their voice reverberating, and reverberating. Over, and over again, through the still, icey air. Afterwards, the air is still, and silent. Although the anxiety, is not. Still, the storm rages. Rough seas, crashing waves, and the gales blowing large stones, and debris onto the beaches below the white cliffs, onwhich white foam is sprayed. Still the storm rages, as i try to take in, the metaphoric beating I ‘ve received.