Last night, I threatened to kill my six year old and threw her across the room.
Then I phoned Ian and told him to ‘please hurry’. He wasn’t even supposed to be here.
My body aches from gripping the bedhead so tight and throwing myself against it. My fingers are swollen from banging them against the timber for an hour waiting for him to get here and save the children from me.
I’ve bruised my leg at some point having caught myself digging my fingers so hard into the flesh there, to keep me inside myself.
I’ve been locked in my room for over 15 hours. He has to leave soon but I’m scared I might hurt my children.
I said I am done. I haven’t any strength left.
And he called my dad… I heard him say “It’s Salty… she’s… in a bad way… She needs her mum.”
They’ll be here in a week.
I’m so frightened we won’t last that long.
SP
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