The voice.

You think back to the last time you all got together and you left feeling like absolute shit. Their smarmy comments about how you have been off the scene lately, ‘in your own world not wanting to be our mate’. How do you explain to them that it takes all of your energy to work up enough strength to get out of bed? Once you have managed that successfully it then takes another hour to decide what you want for breakfast, by which time it has become brunch, causing more stress because why the frick can’t you just decide?! Do you want a boiled egg? But will it fill me? Ok, so fruit? Nah I’ll just pee all day. How about cereal? No that sounds boring. Ok cool starve then.

Once that third world problem is over, the thought of actually conversing with others is another palaver. Your mind worries that you won’t find their jokes as funny as they do and suddenly they don’t want to be your friend (is that such a bad thing though? – more on that another time). What if what happened last time happens again?  When you cried out of the blue and they asked if you were on your period… because clearly that’s the only reason a woman would be emotional. Or ask why you’ve stopped wearing makeup, and you aren’t able to say that you’ve spent all night vomiting worrying about leaving the house and caking your face wasn’t quite a priority. So instead you tell them that you “ran out of time”, when in reality you got up hours earlier than needed just to give yourself a pep talk to make it here.

They’ll probably sit and discuss foundation shades and lipstick colours in as much depth I’m sure the workers of the Taj Mahal didn’t, and they created a bloody masterpiece.  Boy problems, fashion issues, and gossiping about the other friend who bailed like you secretly wish you had. You’ll sit and listen to their dramas and nod your head to be polite, all whilst thinking ‘how do I escape?’

You remind yourself once again to stop putting yourself in this situation, by simply saying no, and then find yourself battling with the voice in your head that tells you you’re the problem, not them. The same voice that tells you to quit feeling sad and just join in, to stop your heart from beating so fast, and to tell her you like the nude lipstick on her just like you did the other 10 she owns.

All those thoughts swirling in your head giving you a knot in the stomach, your turn and say sure I’d love to come.


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