I don't really want to be me no more…

Something to Be – Rob Thomas

February 2013

The buildings are grey, the walls are grey, the desks are grey, the PC is grey, the sky is grey...  At least they are different shades of grey…Mostly. 

Her eyes wandered outside searching for interest whilst her PC worked to compile and run her latest code.  A bird; a black spec against the quilted cloud cover, flickered into her field of vision then departed as freely. 

Blaine had been nudging her mind whilst she was at work recently - that was actually quite confusing for him.  There was a meta-state where he was-but-wasn't all at once.  It would be ‘normal' for a minute, he'd be getting on with his life, usually thinking about Kurt, then he'd realise he had a woman's body and was wearing heels and he would vanish again and she'd be back.  The visits were getting longer however.  It was like he was coming to accept that state where he could think in relative peace away from the others at McKinley.  Away from the complexities of his usual life.

He frowned as his thoughts snapped back.  He was certain that time had jumped. 

Was it light a moment ago?  I could have sworn it was dark… 

He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts.  He had been recalling the last time he saw Kurt – at Will and Emma's almost wedding.  It has been like slipping back into a bespoke suit.  Every touch, every movement, every kiss a finely choreographed dance.  He smiled softly to himself.  He would win Kurt back.  It was only a matter of time now.  His subconscious, always trying to protect him, tried to prepare him for the worst:

…but Kurt was so quick to keep reiterating that you're ‘just friends'…

Images flickered in his memory like a slideshow – the backseat of the Prius, after their duet, talking to Tina in the hall at school the day after.  Each time Kurt had been sure to remind him that they were ‘just friends'.  Blaine blinked them away, determined.

            He's just in denial. He hasn't forgiven me yet.  But he misses me and we are meant to be.  He knows that as well as I do.  He was convincing himself.  Protecting himself.  He doesn't trust me not to hurt him again, but I need to show him.  I couldn't do that again.  I just couldn't.

His subconscious knows him so well.  It turns and tries to play on Blaine's own deepest fears.

            …he was using you…

Kurt's not like that.  He is the sweetest, most sensitive and loving person I have ever met. 

            …but he's seeing someone.  He told you himself…

Kurt wouldn't cheat on someone he was with.  Not even for me.  He's far too moral for that. 

            …you thought you were too…

He's better than that. Better than me.

The subconscious revels as Blaine's walls slam back up. 

He is too good for me.  I have no right to even try to win him back.  He'll never trust me again.  Not after what I did.  But I have to try.  I have to prove to him that we are worth it.  I know he wants to try again.  I know in my heart.

Blaine's resolve overpowers his subconscious for the first time in months.  The walls crack and crumble again and he forces himself to smile.  He has to stay positive because if he doesn't have this he's not sure what he actually has any more.  He cannot allow himself to doubt.  His happiness is in Kurt's hands.  It always has been and he needs to trust Kurt if Kurt is ever going to trust him again.

Her head hurts – it feels foggy, her thoughts unfocused.  She's sure things used to be clearer, easier.  It is difficult to concentrate now.  She's not sure why.  It's been so gradual.  Sinking slowly, so painfully slowly into quicksand.  Pulled down, down, down.  She can't remember when it started – the gradual descent into feeling like this.  She cannot pinpoint a day, or an event, or a trigger.  She's almost forgotten what before was like.  The concept of happy, of free, of energy.  When it is sunny and the sky is blue and the air heady with scent then she feels better – a little more focused, a little warmer, a little freer.  She was making progress, she's sure of it.  Even tackled head-on the stress of her final exams, packing, the move, the battle over the inventory with the letting agents, the Wedding, the family dramas, the house purchase, the decorating.  Then the darkness came and all the progress was wiped away and everything, simply being, was a struggle again.  Was she getting better or were the meds numbing her?  Maybe their effect is wearing off.  Maybe that explains it.  She hates feeling like this – struggling to care, to act like everything is OK when it isn't.  It really is not OK. 

‘You used to be fun.'

He'd told her that.  Her husband.  Did she really though?  Was she fun?  She can't remember clearly.  Events, conversations, songs; she remembers with crystal clarity.  But the order of things is messed up, the faces, the places, the details – they're hazy.  The dream/reality definition is lacking.  Her dreamscapes so clear after years of keeping a dream diary and training herself to remember them – every detail, that now they become memory and that confuses things.  She tries too hard now, or not at all.  Things just take so much energy and she doesn't have enough.  She's so tired all the time but when the night comes she finds it so hard to stop and to sleep.  She always wakes feeling exhausted.  Her eyes feel so dry her own tears sting.

She hates her body.  She wonders where all her muscle definition went and when she started to put on weight.  She's never been comfortable in her own skin.  Never liked her body.  Always been self-conscious.  She's not what anyone would call a classic beauty.  But she's never struggled to find a partner.  Never struggled to woo.  She resolves to make an effort to start dancing again even if it is Zumba on the Xbox 360.  She wants to stop feeling disgusted when she looks in the mirror.  Already the voice in the back puts her down again. 

            …you know you won't.  When you get home you will do what you always do after work.  You'll climb into bed with the cats, get the laptop and read slash fiction until you drift off…

Not tonight. 

An attempt at resolve.  But then she remembers that she needs to help her dad take back his car hire tonight as he's flying back from Norway and he'll be back by 3pm today and she won't have any time to herself as she gets home around 4pm and there is no way she'll dance in front of her husband later. 

              Her inbox pings and she knows it's the office Google Chat.  Days drift together.  The edges blurred.

me:  Morning.   SHAPE  * MERGEFORMAT

 Morgan:  hi there

 me:  Hows it going?

 Morgan:  not terribly

yourself?

 me:  Alright really.

 Morgan:  gd gd

busy day?

 me:  YES

 Morgan:  shouldnt, but lol

just the emphatic..ness?

 me:  Howd your chat go yesterday?

 Morgan:  was cancelled

postponed to today

 me:  AH.  OKies.  Hope it goes well.

 Morgan:  me too

 me:  J

 Morgan:  dont really want to move, but if the jobs right...

 me:  Yes

Exactly

 Sent at 07:34 on Tuesday

 Morgan:  you ok?

or just need quiet

 Sent at 11:05 on Tuesday

 me:  Needed the quiet. J  

 Morgan:  makes sense, codings a bugger when its noisy. I shall leave you to it mdear, enjoy J

 me:  ;)

 Sent at 11:07 on Tuesday

 Morgan:  mornin mdear

fancy a coffee?

 me:  YES

 Morgan:  swing by here and we can head downstairs, bit o quiet

 me:  kk there in 5

 Sent at 09:06 on Wednesday

 Morgan:  good morning, howre you today?

 me:  Alright.  You?

 Morgan:  not three bad

liked the house yesterday

think were going for it; Annies calling them this morning

 Sent at 08:57 on Thursday

 Morgan:  so well be about 10 miles from you, rather than about 20

 me:  Glad you liked.   SHAPE  * MERGEFORMAT

 Sent at 09:00 on Thursday

 me:  How is it not even 9am yet????????

 Morgan:  I KNOW

 me:  WTF

Morgan:  was just wondering why Annie hadnt texted about confirming the place and then realised the estate agents arent even open

 me:  LMAO

Theres no such thing as too much coffee, right?

 Morgan:  correct

trust me

my brothers a doctor

(of psychology...)

 me:  Yeah....

 Morgan:  Im on my first

and probably only of the day

and I just had a nice bowl of Crunchy Nuts

 me:  That sounds so very very wrong.

 Morgan:  but I love nuts L

(said in best Dr Tran voice)

 me:  blank look

 Morgan:  :o  An internet video youre not familiar with

 me:  They do exist.

 Morgan:  Dr Tran is awesome

me:  Unfortunately there are a few I wish I hadnt seen so I could get them out of my head.

 Morgan:  this one has no songs or anything

 me:  This Boy Is A Bottom (This Girl Is On Fire parody) being one of them...

 Morgan:  its about a 6 year old with an action movie voiceover guy talking about him

 me:  That does sound awesome.

 Morgan:  the language is NSFW though

 Sent at 09:07 on Thursday

 me:  Yeah

Neither is This Boy is A Bottom....

 Morgan:  that does not surprise me, I must say

 Sent at 09:09 on Thursday

 me:  Thought it wouldnt.

 Sent at 09:11 on Thursday

Snippets of a friendship.  A conversation punctuated by days, nights, deadlines, coffee, and meetings.    She sighs inside and turns back to squint at her work.  She's waiting on others again.  Cross-between bored and unfocused.  Crossed-eyes, crossed-mind, crossed-fingers.

She must seem really jumpy to her colleagues.  Every time one appears she's caught off guard as if she's been caught with her hand in a cookie jar.  Consistently.  It's not a new thing – The Guilty Reaction.  But now, with the meds, the majority of the accompanying feeling is missing.  She still can't focus enough to pay attention though.  She gets caught up in what she's doing and loses track of everything else.  She muses that it's a consequence of getting used to ignoring the telly, or the music, or the light from the laptop, or the iron, when her husband is doing something and she's trying to read or sleep.  She's getting better at that.  She's still not sure she'll ever be able to really ever do two things at once though.  They'll watch something on the Sky+ planner they've recorded and she'll be reading at the same time and will either miss everything on TV or re-read the same paragraph 8 times and still have no clue what she just read.  It's like when you're driving and then you're miles down the road and have no idea how that happened, then you panic and think anything could have happened! and spend the rest of the journey overcompensating and concentrating really hard.  So hard, you're not really concentrating.

That is every day for her at the moment.  A patchwork of fractured experiences.

She's not sure how she feels about it anymore.

She yearns to sing and dance.  She's not brilliant at either.  She misses the theatre.  But that is not something she could return to.  Not anymore.  She's stuck in this office for the foreseeable future.  At least until her bi-annual review.  Which is not going to be great.  She knows that.

Maybe it's the sense of belonging she misses.

                She could swear she's been sitting at this desk for days.  It's only 11:28.  How is time going so slowly?  She probably shouldn't refill the French Press.  She's already drunk the whole think to herself once already.

 me:  Here, have this
http://i.imgur.com/Y7lchaO.gif?1

 Sent at 09:25 on Thursday

 Morgan:  btw, love the gif

 Sent at 10:06 on Thursday

 Morgan:  we have a new flat!

provided the credit checks ok

 Sent at 11:23 on Thursday

 me:  YAY

 Sent at 11:30 on Thursday

 me:  Shafts

Fun fun

 Morgan:  lol

 Sent at 12:36 on Thursday

 me:  Glad you liked the gif