15. The Blood I Bleed

A cold breeze makes me shiver. I rub my arms and elbows while my arms are crossed in front of my body. The light blue blouse I’m wearing is not enough for a Londoner night in fall. Even though I felt like it was too hot for today. Running back and forth in the kitchen, welcoming guests, most importantly the regulars of my grandma, who have known me since I was seventeen, and helping my staff with the food, but most importantly, helping most of the waiters gather information about our guests. Gathering information regarding like why are they here, what kind of book did they choose, do they like it, and so on. It is important for a restaurant like mine to know their guests not only to let them have the greatest experience possible, but also to make them feel king.

Today was horrible. I knew it was gonna be stressful, but I didn’t expect it to be like that. In our restaurant we can’t be screaming in the kitchen, because all of our guests are silently reading or whispering. It is, after all, a library. So, at some point, we were just super aggressive, plates broke, food fell on the floor and a lot of fingertips were cut. It could have been worse considering we were a team for such a short time, but it was still terrible.

I took a long walk after I closed the restaurant. Now I am opening the door to the church, I went to with my grandma when she was still alive. I sink into one of the church benches and just start crying. „Why won’t I just end it? I don’t wanna do this shit any more“, I think to myself while I’m shaking from the tears. There is so much pain in my chest, pulsing through my body and I don’t know how to make it stop. I don’t know how to breathe. I’m gasping for air, but my lungs just don’t fill up enough. I am not enough. I can’t even breathe right. I can’t do anything right. „God, please make it stop. Make it stop! I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!“, I wanna scream, but from my mouth comes just a whisper. All of a sudden, there is a knife in my hand. It stabs me. And it stabs me again, blood runs. I’m stabbing myself right where it hurts and everywhere it pulses to. In my forearm, in my thigh, in my back, now my back pains me like it does every month since I was twelve, at least it finally has a fucking wound to bleed from. And now my mind, my fucking mind. I need my fucking thoughts to stop pounding! I need my fucking heart to stop feeling! Blood is dripping from my head all over my face. Blood is everywhere. With every cut I calm down, with every stab I convince myself that it’s all over soon. I lay down on the church bench.

But there is no knife and no cuts, no blood, just a broken person trying to find peace in a church. I saw the knife because I wished it would be there and I’m always seeing the blood I bleed, others can’t. The pain always feels as much wrong as it feels right. Maybe I need help.