Patricia

Bang. It was done; there wasn’t any coming back from this. Perhaps in the past, sure — but this was not that time. We’d tried to make things work but you couldn’t forgive what had transpired. This was the last night of trying and there wasn’t any use trying to prolong the inevitable. I collected my thoughts and left somewhen after eight o’clock. The days were no longer drawn out so it was already dark. I wasn’t sure what I was doing truthfully… it was all a bit of a haze — and although I didn’t realise it at the time, I was manic and had no idea how close to edge I was about to get.

I drove, and drove, and drove until several hours later I started circling back around. The sound of orchestral swelling and rescinding filled the cabin. I retracted old haunts to try and feel some reverence for the past, anything, but it only made things worse. Weaving and speeding all over the place. Eventually I started getting further away from town; out in the countryside, down single track roads and over small bridges that disappeared under-tyre. What was even going on anymore? There wasn’t any detaching from this. It was like being on autopilot.

At some point I must’ve joined the highway… I’m not really sure how or when, but before I knew it a pair of headlights were travelling toward me on the other side of a bend. It all happened so fast and I was mesmerised from everything else that I scarce had any time to react. The driver of the other vehicle managed to swerve onto the hard shoulder but I ended up hitting the car behind them instead. There was an almighty crash but I didn’t lose consciousness. The air was suddenly very warm. I crawled up and out the broken-out window at the same time the driver of the car who I’d crashed into was doing the same. I stopped and stared, unsure of what to do or say - and so I did neither. I jumped a nearby fence, looked back at the crash site one last time, then turned and walked away across an open field and into a copse. I don’t think anyone has followed me.

The sounds of mostly everything dissipated the further into forest I went until there was nothing left but the sound of leaves crunching under-foot. What am I doing? I just caused an accident but here I am walking away from it. I want to go back with every fibre of my being but at the same time, I know I couldn’t. Sometimes there’s just too much that has happened to make that possible. So, instead, I keep walking and walking.

I can’t go on for much longer living with the messes I’ve made. I wanted to write this despite my phone being scratched to shit just incase it’s ever found and my family wonder what happened to me. In some ways I hope I’m never found. There’s a really nice spot here against a tree, looking out to a small lake that I’m currently resting at. It’s really pretty here, looking at it glisten in the moonlight. The grass is damp and tickles my arms. I keep thinking about the life I’ve led and how deeply unhappy I am with some of the moves I’ve made. Perhaps I deserve this.

I’m so sorry for all the pain I caused you. It wasn’t my intent, I just couldn’t anymore — you know? Things had just gotten too much and although I really regret the cowardly way things have unfolded, I’m glad you don’t have to see how much lower things got for me. Thank you for everything you did to help; I never forgot that. I wish you were here right now, it would make it so much easier. You always did have a knack for helping me feel better. I’m not going to move another inch from this spot. Whatever happens, happens. I’m just happy to have made it this far in the first place.