Saturday and Sunday are a blur of covers and pulled curtains, of staggering to the bathroom to brush my teeth when I can't stand my breath any longer and sneaking snacks from under my bed where I left my stash of chips and chocolate.
It's a terrible thing to find out your whole life is a construct you created to protect yourself from the fact you were a weakling who let someone bully you into being a fraud. It hurts. A lot. For a long time. Unless you wallow. Then, it can go one of two ways. Either deeper down the black hole.
Or into so much anger you want to punch your way through the walls of your house and scream until they come for you with the meds and the straight jacket.
I toss and turn, fighting the urge to just let Tom win. Like Bonnie won, clearly. She drove the real person I
