17th May - Sunday. No worship left

Yesterday I tried to climb the wall. Don't do it. It doesn't work. I slid ungracefully to the bottom to join my heart. I tried to scrape with my fingers at the cold stone, so I could climb out of myself and reach safety.

The incandescent feelings I had just a while ago have been blackened, and now I am naked. There is nothing left of me, I don’t know my name, where I am, when I am. I have no identity. My flesh has been stripped from my bones and only my skeleton is left. My heart still beats, but the pain and sickness that I feel is unbearable I want to gut myself with a spoon.

I have to pace from the end of the house to the other, crouching and crying, sobbing uncontrolled, rocking, wanting, needing comfort, but there is no one here. I am alone with the betrayal and it is rotting me from the inside like acid. I try to grab onto furniture to help me stay upright, to stop me falling into the pit below my feet, from where I may not return. The ground is not solid beneath me, I am so frightened, the air is thick and chokes me, my lungs are filled with poison, I want to cough and spit, and get the taste out of my mouth. My mouth is wide open, straining, bellowing the pain through the fog.

I want the stench of this decomposing deceit to leave me in peace but it is here, lingering, laughing while I wail. I normally don't cry, don't use tears to mend my hurt, I didn't even cry when my mother died in front of me, but now I cannot stop. It’s not conscious; it’s a tidal wave, caused by the cataclysmic words uttered by the one I love, wrecking my credence. I put my feeble hands out to stop the bank of water but it cuts through me, humiliating me with how pathetic and vulnerable I am. It takes me clean off my feet, doesn't put me out of my misery, instead keeps me hanging, waiting for me to be conscious again so it can have another bash. All seats feel electrified to me, I cannot sit, I have to pace, as if exercise will rush the blood through and cleanse me of this feeling. I have to get the lies out of my system, I have to; I urge them, beg them, but they are immovable.

I feel I am being haunted, everywhere I turn the ghost of deception is clanking his chains and terrifying me, I am at the cliff’s edge, he taunts me, and says to me, ‘shall I push you?’ I want him to, so I can become unconscious, where my images of her with another man will fade. Block out please, the exchanges of dripping sweat and moans of pleasure that I am not a party to, pumping blood, tightened stomach muscles wet lips, dirtied sheets. How did it start? Where did they go? His place or hers? What is his name? Does he know hers? Does he call it out, like I used to? How did they start? Did she start kissing first, or did he start it? How did she feel while his was pumping all his filth into her, did she think of me at all, or did she just enjoy it, with me so far out of her mind that I am invisible? What did they do afterwards? Did she stay and be held by him like I used to hold her? Did he brush her skin and take pleasure in the tightness of her stomach, and kiss her neck like I used to? Did she orgasm like she used to with me, did she tell him it was the best one she had had? Like she used to with me.

You can’t climb walls, they are cold and un-obliging. They don't take away the pain. They laugh at you and bounce back your screaming until it deafens you, so you are so far inside your head you feel you might implode.