The View from Up There

CW: Gore, suicide, mental health

The look in his eyes was one of pure disdain. A look that said ‘You are beneath me and I do not care or acknowledge what you want’. A look that broached no debate, no compromise or in fact any movement at all. He could have been a statue sat there staring at me, so complete was his composure. I’d admire his commitment if it wasn’t such a massive inconvenience to my day and such a huge slap in the face. I place my hands on the sides of my head squeezing my fingers into my temples as I do so. Then I remember my eyeliner and sigh. I really don’t have time to redo my face so I hope I haven’t smudged anything. I turn around and scan for who else is around, it’s pretty quiet still being early in the morning but soon various neighbours will be out starting their day and although I’m in a predicament I could really do without any nosiness masquerading as support right now. There’s no one there, no one within earshot.

‘What exactly are we trying to achieve with this little stunt huh? What’s the end game? Cause I have 15minutes left before I need to leave this house and three thousand things to do before then. Did I upset you? Have I slighted you in some way?’

My outburst is met with even more stony silence. I don’t know what I’m expecting, our relationship has always been one sided. I turn on my sensible shoes and march back into the house, frustration rising. I snatch what I need from the cupboard, grabbing it with such force I smash the contents a little. I know it’s not personal, but it sure as hell feels personal right now. Standing on my street on a slightly wet, slightly soggy, slightly foggy morning feeling bloody powerless is not how I wanted to start today. And again, I know it’s not been timed on purpose but today was a big day, an especially busy day. So why now? I shake the bag, in what I hope comes across as tempting, rather than communicating the near blind fury that’s building by the second.

‘Come on Percy, get down, I’ve got treats for you’ my voice rises in pitch using that sing-song tone people reserve for their pets. Though right now I’m not sure who is whose pet. This bloody cat has the upper hand. Yes I’m talking to a cat, in a tree, on a suburban street on a nondescript Tuesday morning. This cat has no business being in a tree, he’s an indoor cat and has shown no urge to ever expand his horizons. Until, on a busy day, when I’m feeling completely overwhelmed, I popped out to throw something in the recycling and he made a bolt for freedom.

I’m not going to lie, I get it! I’d love to run away and leave everything behind. I bet the view from that tree is amazing to him, so different from the street level, slightly grimy blurred view of the world he peers at through the living room window every day. He can finally feel the breeze through his fur, and take a deep breath of the fresh morning air. I don’t know if he’s even felt grass before, I wonder what he thought of it on his paws or if he even registered it as he legged it over to the tree. I can feel the morning dew soaking into my cheap black flats. I can feel the morning haze frizzing my brown bob and the chill snaking its way down the back of the black shapeless dress I wear everyday as my office attire.

‘I don’t have time for this!’ I growl through my tense jaw. He has completely ignored the treats I have scattered at my feet. He has not moved an inch. I stomp over to the tree: ‘You know I’ve got a busy day, you’ve done this on purpose’ I mutter angrily to myself as I start to try and scramble up the base of the tree to see if I can reach the damn pest. I get purchase on a lump about half a metre up, the thin sole of my shoe trying to gain some stability on the rough bark. I reach up trying to grab the lower branch just beneath Percy. ‘Oh for fuck sake’ my foot slips and my knee scrapes down the trunk. Pain sears through my knee and I can immediately tell I’ve laddered my tights. I shake the branch in my hand as I slip and the remnants of last night's downpour soaks me.

‘That’s it. Fucking stay up there then, run into fucking traffic you stupid fucking cat.’ I’m shouting now. I’m wet, I’m hurt and I’m shouting at a cat. I sit heavily down on the grass. I’m so disheveled now a grass stain on my arse isn’t going to make much difference. I feel like I’m physically deflating. Today was such an important day. I have a meeting with Patrick at 11am. I never have meetings, I doubt Patrick even knew my name before this and I’ve worked there three years. I fly under the radar, that’s how I like it. I don’t go on Friday drinks, join in the birthday collections or the Christmas do. I’m polite, don’t get me wrong, I just don’t like the drama. Stay well out of it. Much better for me. And my work doesn't really require input, or feedback. So I’m safe. I’m fine. Until Patrick needed help on a new program and for some reason my name was mentioned and now here I am spending weeks tying myself into knots over it.

And the cat knew. Percy bloody knew about today. You might think I’m being totally irrational and you’re probably right but that cat is the only one I speak to, my only confidant. And the way he’s looking at me, my shoulders slumped, legs splayed on the grass, hair damp, ripped tights and bloody knee, he knows and he doesn’t care. He’d listened to my rants, my worries, my panic and it meant nothing. I meant nothing. He stares back at me, twitches his ears and sits down on the branch. Settling in and making himself more comfortable.

I start to cry. Big weeping, messy sobs. I can’t leave him. I gasp, snot running out my nose. I know it’s all too much. I’m going to be late for my meeting. They’ll know I can’t help, that I’m useless. They’ll see. That I’ve been pretending all this time. That there’s nothing under the shapeless black dress I wear everyday. No thoughts, no drive, nothing but an empty space. I’m pathetic. Reduced to a quivering wreck by a cat. A bloody cat. My only friend. Who now obviously wants to leave me too. I can’t even keep a cat. The effing thing relies on me for its whole bloody existence and I’m still not enough. I shift over and curl my wet crumpled body into the base of the tree. I’m practically in the foetal position now. Great sobs are still wracking my body. I feel broken, I feel cold. I’ve been alone for such a long time now.

There was a time I wasn’t alone but I barely remember it now. There are images in my mind of laughter, of being around friends but I can’t remember the sound. I remember knowing I was loved. So much love it began to hurt. So much love it began to squeeze my rib cage and made it hard to breathe. Being around him made me so happy, and being away from him began to be scary. He didn’t like me to be away from him, for my own good. I often forget things, or get lost and confused and it was better if he was there to look after me. My friends weren’t good for me, they encouraged me to make bad choices. I saw that and I wasn’t sad. I only wanted to be with him anyway. Nothing bad would happen to me there. It was safe. He looked after me, and I needed him. Until he left, until he didn’t need me, until he saw through me too. Until everything I did wasn’t enough anymore, I wasn’t enough. He’d got sick of looking after me, I don’t blame him. I was never good enough for him. Not strong enough. And after he’d gone there had been no one left. I thought he might come back eventually.

I can remember feeling like this before, like every breath was made of razor blades and every scream was silence. Like no one knew I was here and nothing would change if I wasn’t. That to feel nothing and to be nothing was only pain. I remember sitting, staring for hours. I’d put my work clothes on last night, just in case I slept in and forgot the meeting. To be ready. So I sat there feeling and not feeling all at once. Screaming and silent. I remember seeing the sunrise emerging through the dirty living room window. How smudged and muted it all looked. A numb acknowledgment that it would all go on without me, then a comfort in knowing it could end if I wanted it to. I remember opening the door and breathing the crisp morning air deep into my lungs and the surprise at it not hurting. I remember walking and feeling the wet, cold seeping through my shoes. I kicked them off to feel the grass against my feet. The icy chill of last night's rain numbed my toes. I remember climbing up the tree, slipping and scraping my knee until I finally managed to reach the first branch. The branch Percy is sitting on now, looking so comfortable and still. I remember gazing at the view, noticing how much clearer the world looked from up here. How the sunrise threw shadows like a thin veil over everything, but strangely they didn’t seem as dark anymore. I remember tying the rope. I remember tightening the knot with my fingers as the knot in my stomach eased and released. Sitting there rolling my ankles round and round, flexing my toes and enjoying the feeling knowing it would be gone soon. I remember shuffling myself off the branch and feeling the jolt. The pull. The quiet.

I look up from the base of the stump knowing that I’m not really here anymore. That I’m hanging from that branch, swaying in the morning breeze. That it’s finally quiet now. I look into Percy’s eyes. He looks peaceful now, no judgement, just there. And I smile, because I wasn’t alone in the end.

He stayed with me.