Girls-Modern

The Memory of Water

The Memory of Water by Shelagh Stephenson

Catherine:
Fuck it!

Silence.  She bursts into racking sobs.

I went to this counsellor – did I tell you this? – or a therapist or something and she said I had this problem and the problem was, I give too much, I just do too much for other people, I’m just a very giving person, and I never get any credit for any of it.  I haven’t even got any friends.  I mean, I have but I don’t like most of them, especially the women, and I try really hard, it’s just I’m very sensitive and I get taken for a ride, nothing ever goes right, every time, I mean, every time it’s the same – like with men.  What is it with men?  I mean, I don’t have a problem with men or anything.  I love men.  I’ve been to bed with seventy-eight of them, I counted, so obviously there’s not a problem or anything, it’s just he didn’t even apologise or anything and how can he say on the phone he doesn’t want to see me anymore?  I mean, why now?  Why couldn’t he have waited?  I don’t know what to do, why does it always go wrong?  I don’t want to be on my own, I’m not that sort of person, and I can’t do it.  I did everything for him, I was patient and all the things you’re supposed to be and people kept saying don’t accept this from him, don’t accept that, like, you know, when he stayed out all night, not very often, I mean once or twice, and everyone said to tell him to fuck off but how could I because what if he did?  Because they all do, everyone I’ve ever met does, they all disappear and I don’t know if it’s me or what.  I don’t want to be on my own, I can’t stand it, I know it’s suppose to be great but I don’t think it is.  I can’t help it, it’s no good pretending, it’s fucking lonely and I can’t bear it.