A Morning in the Life of Many Ordinary People

Three - Isla

I open my eyes and all I see is light, and for the first time in so long I feel okay. I didn't have the dreams. I don't feel exhausted and drained and awful. I just feel, okay. It feels strange if I'm honest, I'm not quite sure how to take it. I still can't see anything, the light really is blinding. I squint over and see that my curtains are wide open and I seem to have slept so long that the sun is fully up in the sky. This is another first. I can't remember the last time I had a good night's sleep. I slowly sit up, not wanting to make any sudden movements in case I suddenly jolt myself back into the bad place I have been working for so long to get away from. And I have been working. I wake up and I make myself look presentable. I do my yoga exercises and I eat breakfast, every day, no matter how hard it is. I go to work at the hospital all day looking after everyone, making sure they are okay, trying not to think if I am honest because thinking is what brings me to the worst corners of my mind. I like listening to their stories, everyone in the hospital always has something to say, whether it takes them a few days or a few months or even in some cases a few years. Then I come home when I have to, and I make myself dinner, and then I make myself eat it because I know eating is important and it keeps me going. Then sometimes I write, sometimes I watch a movie, sometimes I read, I paint or play my violin or I do the gardening or I sew another patch onto the quilt I am in the process of making. This one is nearly done and I'm pretty proud of it. I think I might give it to the little girl at the hospital with the eyes that always look so painfully empty, except when her family visit every month. I wish they would visit more, for her sake. But as I was saying, I just need to always keep myself busy. It helps to keep the tidal waves away. Of course most of the time I can still feel the waves, the dark storm inside my mind. It's always there. I can keep as busy as I want, I can fight as hard as I like, it doesn't ever really go away. But right now, it seems to be gone. I can't explain it. It's something so new to me, this inexplicably tranquil quiet inside of me. I'm at a loss, I don't quite know what to do. I guess it's a good thing it is the weekend and I don't have to go anywhere in a hurry. I can just sit here, and savour this.

My cat Pepe comes to say good morning to me, rubbing his face against my arm. I smile down at him and scratch his little head. His big blue eyes stare up at me, as if he is surprised. I guess he must not be used to me really smiling. I laugh a little laugh out loud at the idea, and then I stop. Did I really just laugh? Out loud? A real laugh? I've spent so many years faking laughter, I'd forgotten the sound and feel of it. How strange. I pick Pepe up and take him with me into the bathroom, setting him down gently on the counter. He likes to sit on high up places, he's still quite young and he hasn't quite got the hang of all the jumping other cats are so well accustomed to. I suppose both him and I are a little behind in being normal creatures in our own rights. Maybe that's why I love him so. I'd like to think he loves me too, but really with cats it's hard to tell.

I look at my reflection in the mirror, and I don't know if it's just me or the way I am feeling today, but I think I look a little less pale, a little less worn. The dark circles under my eyes have lightened a little. Obviously miracles haven't happened or anything, but I look more, human. I pick up my brush and tug it through my hair lightly. It's not nearly as knotty as it usually is. Perhaps the lack of nightmares meant I did a lot less tossing and turning last night. I put the brush down, opting to just pull my fingers through my hair. It's just as long as it has always been, all the way down to my waist, past my elbows, almost reaching my bum. There's so much of it. I look across and see a pair of scissors sitting on the dressing table in my room. I have an idea. What if I cut it all off? Let go of it all? I've always had long hair, ever since I was young, when everything happened. My mother preferred it, and so I just kept it, never really thought about it. If I cut it all away, I'd be free, right? I pick up a lock of hair, it's heavy, dense and thick. I suddenly want nothing more than to feel the sharpness of the scissors cutting through it all. I take three long strides into my room, to the dresser, and pick up the scissors. Then three long strides back, to stand in front of the mirror again. I look at myself, one last time. I think of whispering goodbye, but that just makes me want to laugh again. My mother always did call me overdramatic. I open the scissors, bring them up to my hair, pull a long strand away from the rest, and snip. It's gone. And I feel even lighter.

I carry on, snipping and cutting and lopping each piece off, until it's at my chin. I have quite a
pointy heart shaped face, and my hair accentuates that now. I smile at myself, run my fingers through it, and look down at my dark hair all over the floor. I feel laughter bubbling up inside me yet again, for the third time today, and it's not even 10 o'clock in the morning. I look at Pepe. He's licking his paws, uninterested in this big thing I have just done. What a typical cat. This time I do laugh out loud, and I feel lighter than I think I have ever felt in my whole life. I pick up him and, careful not to step on my hair on the floor, I go to get a broom to sweep up the mess I have made. Pepe meows, and licks my face. Maybe he wasn't that uninterested after all.