The Existence of Amy Page 2

  'Morning lovelies!' – this is Sally. She addresses everyone as 'lovely' but I think when it's directed at us she puts some feeling behind it.

  'I know we haven't even had our morning coffees yet, so possibly too early to be thinking about alcohol, but everyone is still planning on going for drinks tonight, aren't they?'

  There is a slight desperation in her voice, but it gets like that sometimes during periods of particular high stress. We've had a really busy couple of weeks, and everyone is feeling a similar need to de-stress in the pub, so we all respond without hesitation in variations of the affirmative.

  I really hope I can follow through this time. I make a quick internal plead 'Please let me.'

  Chapter 4

  The morning starts with a client meeting. I haven't met these clients before so it's likely going to be a bad meeting. That might sound dramatically pessimistic, but I've attended enough meetings and met enough new people to know what will happen, and then what will happen because of the thing that happened at the beginning.

  My prediction is confirmed when on entering the room I am almost immediately met with an extended hand.

  I've put a lot of thought into plausible reasons for why you can refuse to shake someone's hand. Plausible polite reasons that is. The best I've ever been able to come up with is that I've just applied hand cream but that oddly doesn't always deter people. However, I've used that excuse too often in front of others in this room, a few of which flat out know I have definitely not just applied hand cream.

  So, I shake the hand in front of me and bid farewell to focus.

  Half-way through the meeting I can feel Ed's eyes on me. My awareness spreads to the others in the room and I quickly register the silence. Oh. They're waiting for me to speak. Shit, who asked me a question and what was it? Mere seconds pass before Ed steps in and saves me by repeating the question (most likely expertly re-worded).

  I answer with ease. I know my job pretty well. I have well thought-out opinions and am comfortable voicing them. Answering questions is not the problem.

  When the meeting ends, I dart out the room as fast as politeness allows and head straight for the bathroom.

  Later in the afternoon I'm waiting outside a room for another meeting (this time no new people so should be lower on the stress scale). Sally is in the room talking to another colleague Lauren. They've just finished their own meeting and are gathering up their things. I am not a fan of gossip and therefore, do not go out of my way to eavesdrop on other people's conversations but given the space we are all occupying I can't help but hear their words.

  It soon becomes apparent they are discussing this evening's drinks and I hear Lauren ask Sally who is all going that she knows of. Sally reels off the list and then adds one cutting sentence to the end of the list.

  'And maybe Amy. But it's unlikely really. She's a canceller.'

  'Ah right. That's a shame. I like Amy.'

  'I like her too but I'm not sure she likes the rest of us sometimes. She can hardly ever be bothered to make the effort to socialise with us. She'll no doubt come up with some excuse.'

  She's not entirely wrong. I am a canceller.

  She is wrong about the being bothered to make an effort part though. I love spending time with them and would love if I could socialise with them more. It's just not as simple for me as it is for other people.

  It's immensely far beyond a straightforward choice of wanting to or not wanting to.

  I don't reach the end of the day and simply decide with ease that I'd rather be at home on my own watching TV. I reach the end of the day and something else steps in and decides for me.

  You're just not equipped to continue with this day Amy – home it is for you. No arguments.

  I could be hurt by hearing Sally's words. I am hurt. But it would be unfair to direct my hurt at her. I can't blame her for the way she feels. She is only reacting in a natural way to the facts presented to her.

  I walk back down the corridor to make sure they don't see me when they leave the room. If they saw me, they would have to ponder whether I had heard their words and there is no need for any awkwardness to be created from this.

  I try not to dwell on it too much but is that even possible? It's a catalyst for other thoughts I seem powerless to hold back.

  I am sure Sally is not the only one that has attached this perception to me. It feels so unfair to be viewed this way when it's not the truth. My behaviour is the truth of course, but the reasons behind my behaviour are not known by anyone so they are left with having to infer them.

  Perhaps what they infer is better than the actual truth though. It is entirely possible the truth may lead them to extricate themselves from our friendship altogether, as soon as politely possible.

  So, be it truth or inference, I can't win either way.

  The day continues on but it's only moving in a downward direction for me.

  The weight of hearing Sally's words, along with numerous little anxiety inducing incidents that occur throughout the rest of the day, all mount up to beat me down.

  Not long after six o'clock people start making movements towards the pub. Sally asks, 'Anyone ready to go now? Think I'm done for the day.'

  I am also done for the day. But my done does not mean the same as Sally's unfortunately. I am done with the day as a whole, needing it to be over in its entirety. Sally is simply done with the work portion.

  I wish I could keep going. I wish I could go to the pub. I intended to go to the pub. I didn't lie when I told everyone previously that I was going to go. But I'm about to lie now when I reply, 'I'll meet you down there, I just need to finish some stuff first.'

  They almost certainly see the lie for what it is. So, I'm treated to their usual responses.

  Sally's resigned tinged with disappointment and annoyance 'Ok, see you there!'. She's long given up on challenging me every time.

  Ed's simply kind 'I'll wait for you.'

  Nathan's blunt but friendly 'Ames, you better definitely turn up! Do I need to wait too and drag you there myself?!'.

  Those are their words but the expressions that flit between them are painful to receive. I read them fluently. They think I don't want to spend time with them. They think I don't value our friendships. They think I can't be bothered. They think maybe I've had a better offer. They think I'm anti-social.

  They'll think all these things and be disappointed and annoyed with me, but then ten minutes later I will be long forgotten from their thoughts. They will be in the pub, drinking, socialising and enjoying their evenings.

  I, on the other hand, am not so lucky in the forgetting. I will go home and ruminate over how I always let down my friends. Ruminate over how I'm missing out on a fun night as I'm no longer allowed to freely participate.

  One more fun occasion I have been robbed of attending. I add it to the pile of mounting evidence of how I'm failing. Failing at being alive.

  In my mind, there is only one night actually ruined by my non-attendance.

  It takes some time, but eventually I manage to persuade Ed not to wait for me.

  'I could help with what you're working on and maybe we'd get it done faster together?'

  'I don't think so. I just need to focus on it myself. Thanks though.'

  'Ok. I understand. I'm still happy to hang back and wait for you though, there's always stuff I can do here to keep me occupied.'

  'I'm sure, but there's no point us both missing out on valuable drinking time. You'll make me feel bad for holding you back.'

  We continue back and forth in this vein for a little while longer before I think he senses I need him to not wait. He looks at me as if he's unsure though and can't quite decide the best thing to do.

  'Honestly Ed, just go, I will see you there in a bit.'

  He pauses a little longer and I make the mistake of turning to look at him. I am thrown by the look of compassion in his eyes.

  Despite knowing that it's likely they are all now aware when I'm lying, I can s
till vaguely delude myself that they do actually believe me. As though there is nothing horrible lurking beneath the surface of our words.

  His look right now is making it extremely hard to tune into that delusion and it's uncomfortable to observe so I look back to my screen.

  He finally says, 'Ok, I'll leave you to it then.'

  Once he has packed up his stuff and left, I lay down my pretence and let my gaze drift from my laptop. It moves to the window where it rests and contemplates the city beyond. A city so full of life. Full of people living out fun exciting experiences every single minute.

  I am stuck in this moment watching. I am stuck in most moments watching.

  I stay like this for a while. Tormenting myself with images of other lives. It feels cruel but I can't seem to stop.

  I need to move. I need to go home and try not dwell too much on what I'm missing out on but I'm not sure that's ever going to be possible. Not today. Not any day.

  Today somehow feels worse though. It feels like it's coming again. I'm slipping.

  Chapter 5

  I wake up the next morning and almost instantly feel confirmation it has indeed come to visit.

  I stare at the wall for a while trying to decide whether I might be able to manage. Maybe this is just a light version and I'll still be able to make it outside. Still be able to somehow trick my body into moving through a workday.

  I'm just fooling myself though really. I know I can't. My head feels too fragile, I know I must handle with care.

  I send my boss a message saying I'm not feeling well and won't be in. This is not a lie.

  I go back to sleep.

  I wake up later and do some more wall staring. Then fall back asleep again.

  This is pretty much the extent of activity in my day. It's rather exhausting.

  Even brain activity isn't all that high. I guess not moving all day is deemed a relatively safe predicament.

  It's amazing how little a day can pass by with. I don't even register boredom. It seems this should surely have been present, at some points at least.

  You would presume the volume of day sleeping would ruin my chances at night sleeping. But strangely not. The night drifts into dreamworld as usual with very little struggle.

  The next day continues on in an almost identical repeat performance of the previous one. I exist in a trance like numb state flitting between staring and sleeping.

  All my feelings seem to have got fed up and have fled my body. Perhaps they felt over-exerted and couldn't cope. They've left to find a more stable carrier, it's clearly way too stressful in this one.

  When I travel back to dreamworld that night, I experience a really beautiful dream. Not beautiful in the sense of some magical existence with no link to reality. More so, beautiful in that it relives a time in my past. A time I have great fondness for.

  I'm back in my life of about a decade ago, living a very happy life with my boyfriend at the time. It's so blissfully carefree and joyful. Our lives were glossy in their simplicity. Focus was directed solely on where the next hit of fun was coming from.

  No stress. No anxiety. No peculiar alarming brain activity. No sadness.

  There was probably some sadness. No life has none. But I can't remember it so it can't have been a strong force. It's absent from this dream as it was mostly absent from my life back then.

  Somewhere along my reality path it transformed from being mostly absent to being mostly present.

  The contrast between my then and my now is vast.

  My then was a life that you would likely classify as normal. I wish I had appreciated it more. I participated. I engaged. I had fun. I worried sure, but I worried about the same things lots of other people worry about. 'Healthy' worry if it were to have a label attached. No cause for real alarm bells.

  Slowly somewhere at some time though an alarm bell decided to start making some noise. It was really quiet at first, you possibly wouldn't even hear it. Was there a noise? Did you hear that? I could pretend it had been imagined since it was so faint.

  Gradually over time it wasn't happy being ignored though and realised it had to get louder. For some reason it really wanted to be part of my life so I could ignore it all I wanted, it was not going anywhere.

  I hear it loud and clear these days. It's near impossible to pretend and ignore.

  Chapter 6

  I wake up the next morning, the dream of my life before abruptly over, and awareness of reality seeds and grows. I feel like I'm coming down off the biggest high. I don't want it to be over. I don't want this world, take me back to the other. I keep my eyes closed and stay still in a will to fall back, but it's a losing battle.

  Sadness swarms and hovers over me. It slowly injects itself and tears start preparing their journey.

  This dreaming pattern happens quite frequently. I cannot decide if it is cruel because it is taking me back to happier times before harshly ripping those times away from me again. Or, it may be a nice thing because for those beautiful pretend hours I have a break. I am happy and healthy.

  Perhaps it is a bit of both.

  Sadness appears every time on waking from these dreams but today I acknowledge this may indicate something else. It may indicate improvement. I'm not really sure whether in general it's better to feel nothing or feel something during these visits. But the pattern they follow is usually a progression from nothing to something, so I guess I'll say it's better to feel something.

  I lay a while letting the tears fall, reliving the dream in my mind. Grieving my past.

  I realise though that today I need to get out of bed. No, I'm still not going to make it out the house, but I'm not allowed to stay in bed any longer. It won't let me. It doesn't sit well to give it any positive airtime, so I'll just say this quickly then move on... one good thing is that it won't allow personal hygiene to slip as that will only result in more fear.

  So, I get out of bed and transport myself into the shower. I stand there for a long time simply and solely crying. I can't seem to stop. There is not much energy behind this, I'm not even sure my face is moving all that much. Tears are simply running continuously down my face.

  One lone thought is on a loop in my head. 'Am I ever going to be able to properly function as a human being?'

  People will sometimes advise, 'have a good cry, it'll make you feel better'. Does it though? I'm pretty sure what will make me feel better right now is not crying. Or even just feeling like I might actually be capable of stopping sometime soon.

  I eventually leave the shower and get dressed. I think I'm still crying but it appears to have achieved autopilot status now so I can at least somewhat ignore it.

  I go and sit in front of my laptop searching for something to distract me. I try to watch a film. Deliberately picking a light looking comedy with one of my favourite actors.

  I can't concentrate on it though. Every time my favourite actor speaks, he seems to annoy me. I don't find the jokes funny. I don't understand the story. Hardly surprising given my brain can't seem to hold any of the actor's words once I've finished being annoyed with them.

  I decide to read some news sites instead. Not the smartest move I know. Adding outside world negativity on top of my own is going to take me nowhere good.

  I read about a horrific car crash that resulted in multiple fatalities. After the natural reactive feelings of shock and sadness for the families I turn to the less natural reaction of guilt.

  I of course didn't cause the crash so not the common kind of guilt. But there's this thing called survivor's guilt where if you are involved in an accident and other people die but you survive, you feel guilty because you weren't the one that died.

  You were spared for some reason, but you don't understand why so you weirdly feel guilty that the universe chose someone else to die over you. The words 'it should have been me' or 'if I'd been sitting a couple of seats over' might be uttered from your mouth.

  This is a natural reaction when you live out a traumatic experience sid
e by side with those who died. I seem to have it though when I haven't been anywhere near the experience.

  I picture the people who died in my head and make an assumption that they were living great lives. They were engaging in lots of activities life has to offer, contributing well to society in their careers or hobbies, influencing friends and family with wonderful relationships. All that good stuff that you're meant to be doing.

  Then I compare it to the shambles I'm being forced to make of my own life, and it seems deeply unfair. I wish desperately that I could swap with them. If there was some easy way to make this happen, I would not hesitate one single fraction of a second. They should be alive, not me.

  After adding my warped version of survivor's guilt to the feelings returning to my body, I move away from the news sites.

  I decide to try and eat something, but nothing tastes all that nice. I am eating similar foods to what I regularly eat but they are somehow taking on different textures today. I even try my best option for what would be deemed 'comfort food' but the comfort part seems to be missing.

  It would appear that my taste buds are feeling sad too. They want to be left alone, rejecting invitations from flavour.

  I give up on food and go back to searching for some other distraction.

  The day continues on in a cycle of starting and abandoning activities. I feel agitated and restless. Agitation so great it feels as though it has seeped so far within it has reached my soul.

  I eventually call an end to the day around early evening (ok, late afternoon) and go back to bed. I glance at my phone which has been left ignored all day. There's a message from Ed.

  Hey Amy, how are you doing? Can I bring you anything? Soup? Vitamins? Tales of office gossip?