Invertebrate by Lucy Cameron

A always hated arguing. Ma whole body seizes up wae an uncomfortable heat and stiffness during confrontation. It’s a heat that A’d rather avoid altogether. So, A do, A always avoid it. A never pick sides, A always agree wae folk and A bite ma tongue. Even if someone’s being a complete wanker. Mum says, people take me fir a dafty. Mum says, A’m a total soft touch.

‘You needy grow a backbone. If yer friends jumped aff a cliff, wid ye follow them?’

And A don’t wanty admit tae ma Mum that aye, A probably wid. Why wid ye wanty stand on a cliff by yerself? A always thought being non-confrontational wis a good hing. Like if ye always agree, everyone will like ye. And who doesny wanty be liked?

But A liked being known as the chill friend. A wid always say aye tae going oot for a drink. A always got the shots in if yer boyfriend hus cheated on ye, or broke up wae ye over text. A wid offer shots over any real advice cos people appreciate at mair fae me. A wis always single so how cid A ever understaund aw that? A wid go along wae ma friends tae the STD clinic after a wan night stand fir support. They ask me, and only me, tae come. A’d never judge. Cos how cid A? Ad laugh aboot it wae them in the waiting area and ease any nerves. A’m always a good laugh on nights oot, providing quality entertainment on the group chat the next morning. A’m always the centre ae attention on they mornings. Laughing wae me or at me wis where ma wires started tae get crossed. Remember when ye wur sick in a plastic cup inny club? Remember when yer dress ripped cos ye tried tae dae the Russian splits? Remember when at guy rejected ye and said he didny wanty kiss ye back? Remember when ye dropped yer kebab and garlic mayo spilt aw doon yer dress? Remember when the taxi driver refused tae take ye home cos ye reeked ae fucking garlic? Remember when ye slept ootside cos ye forgot yer hoose keys? Remember remember remember remember remember remember remember remember remember remember remember

Fuck. A start tae hate that remembering patter. A start tae spend ma Sunday hangovers alone wae nae one to remind me aboot the night before. And to be fair, A usually canny remember any ae it maself. Sometimes, it comes back tae me in wee fragments, but A push them away safely tae the back ae ma mind. A sit by the toilet bowl, sprawled oot, pure dying and sometimes A cry a wee bit. A normally sit in ma room wae aw the lights aff, curtains drawn. Ma only source ae light is the wee flashing bit fae ma peach ice vape. When A eventually check ma phone ers hunners ae unopened messages. This makes me feel even sicker. A click on them. One fae an unknown number.

Hello, good to meet ye last nite gorgeous. Hope you’re not too hungover today ;)

Gross. Canny remember who the fuck that is. Delete. Ma pals huv sent me a pile ae ignored messages that begin wae the word ‘Remember’. A delete them tae. A don’t wanty remember. It creeps inty ma mind that ma pals are only ma pals cos they find aw this funny. A’m a total joke tae them. Lit am a circus act that hus piqued their own morbid curiosity. How far cin she bend backwards? The woman wae no spine. Naw, they are ma mates. A’m being daft.

How come in yer twenties, it becomes harder tae distinguish if yer hungover, or if ye hate yerself? And who dae A talk tae when A feel like that? Am supposed to have a laugh and take a joke. A watch returns ae Geordie Shore and sleep, it really isny that deep.

A’m oot fir brunch, tae ma disappointment it isny boozy cos wan ae ma pals Katie is pregnant. So, everyone agreed they widny drink so she didny feel left oot. A agreed cos A’d look even worse if a wis the only wan swallying. A’m dead excited for Katie. A cin pure picture her as a maw organising playdates and singing along tae kid’s TV shows wae oot any hints ae underlying annoyance. This moment isny aboot me, except it kinda is cos A canny stop thinking aboot if A’m capable of being a mum. A struggle tae socialise wae oot the promise ae a drink, so how cid a last nine months wae oot a drop? A’m barely consistent enough fir a situationship, so wid A be able tae raise a child alone? A always lose hings. Am naw even responsible enough tae be trusted wae ma own passport atty airport. So, how cid A ever be responsible fir a wean?

There’s an emptiness in ma stomach, it canny be filled by the overpriced avocado and poached eggs.  A listen tae ma pals conversations aboot babies, boyfriends, engagements and mortgages. A mortgage is wan ae they words A just pretend tae understaund. A huv nae idea wit it means. And since when did everyone aroond me know wit it meant? Since when did everyone aroond me care aboot getting wan? A must’ve skidged school when we got taught how to behave like an adult cos A huv nae clue. We wur aw in the same club together last year. Literally. A’ve been silent fir a while, so A decide tae chime in wae ma usual patter.

‘A’d be lucky tae get an M&S meal deal and a decent shag this year.’

Ers laughter, but it’s forced. And is at pity? A see the subtly exchanged glances of disapproval over the table. A pick up on the glances today, but A suspect they huv always been there. A wonder if they talk aboot me when they go hame tae their boyfriends. Bless her, she still hasn’t grown up. A wanty tell them how bad A’ve been feeling, how alone A feel. A wanty bring up the countless times A’ve been at their beckon call. But A don’t. A sip ma shite fruity mocktail and smile. A contortionist wae no fucking spine. Laugh bitch.

It’s Katie’s engagement party, A’m sat in a dimly lit church hall aboot six drinks in. Dunno how many exactly, A wisny counting. A’m sat alone at a rounded table just watching other folk. A’m watching the intimacy of the couples aroond me wae their loving looks, gentle touches, inside jokes and innocent laughter. A watch the way others interact, cos if a watch them long enough A might work this oot for myself. A might crack the formula. The formula of how to let yerself love and be loved. Is the answer in the way ye take someone’s hand, or trace someone’s back? A dunno. A should know the answer tae this by now. A’ve prepared fir it aw my life. A’ve rewatched hunners ae romcoms and read loads ae romance novels. A’m always watching others, waiting fir something tae happen tae me. It never does. A’m still where A always am.

Later on intae the night, everyone’s red inny face and talking mair honestly tae one another. Ma pal Eva grabs ma hand and says,

‘I’m so jealous of you. You’re just soooo good at being single.’

She’s drunk. A smile, but A dunno wit that means. How cin ye be good at being unloved? Eva leans closer and A cin smell the fruity wine aff her breath.

‘Like- I can’t really imagine you in a relationship!’

A thud right in the gut. Others aroond the table aw laugh and agree. So, wit else cin A dae but laugh and agree tae? A start ma usual shite aboot how A love being alone, and how A’m happy this way. A’m lying through ma fucking teeth. A’m saving face cos it’s easier than admitting A crave the taste ae something A’ve never tried. It’s lit when saying naw tae the last bite ae dessert, but the other person’s been a greedy cunt so ye didny even get a spoonful. Naw even a morsel. Yer fucking starving. Laugh bitch. It’s supposed tae be funny? Why are ye naw laughing anymair? 

A decide tae go home and make a mental list ae reasons why A’m chronically single. Chronically alone. Chronically unlovable. Chronically fucked up. Perhaps, this cid be an easy fix. Is it the whole binge drinking hing? But A’m fae Scotland; born and bred in Glasgow nae less. So, A canny fix that cos it’s part ae ma culture. The heavy drinking, haggis, fried mars bars, and comedic relief character culture. It’s aw one big joke. Laugh bitch. People make Glasgow. Plus, A’m naw that bad, only onny weekends. Is it because ae yer Da? A know shit like this, stuff wrong wae yer mind, cin be hereditary. He usety be depressed and that when A wis a teenager. Did aw this shite come fae him? But how come ma sister is fine? So, it canny be passed doon tae yer children. Maybe, A just got the gene that made me this way. Or is ma mum right, is it the fact A huv nae backbone? Who wants tae be wae a fucking invertebrate. People cin smell that type ae people pleasing desperation fae a mile away. It’s a putrid smell wafting fae ye lit a rotten molar infecting a mooth. Or is it simpler than aw this, is it me? Laugh bitch. None ae this is funny anymair.

A start tae dedicate ma free time tae self-help techniques A seen on an Instagram post wae pretty wee graphics. First, A try the yoga. But ma bones crack wae ache after every stretch into the fucking downward dug. A try the journalling hing, but A dunno wit tae write other than help. A take a trip tae the seaside, lit wit they’d prescribe women wae hysteria. Maybe that’s wit A am, fucking hysteric. Sea air is supposed tae cleanse ye but am choking onny fumes ae the chippy and seaweed. Ma body floats along the beach tae the water’s edge, and A stare at the water. A hink aboot going in and naw coming back. Ma eyes are directed tae dozens ae jellyfish – hunners ae them washed ashore lit a massacre. A wonder how many people huv poked sticks at them tae check if they’re really deed. A wanty pick wan up and squish it in ma hands. But A hink somebody telt me jellyfish still sting, even dead wans. A google it tae check.

Jellyfish can still sting for thousands of years after they’ve died.

When A get hame A make a green tea, another self-help remedy. It tastes ae complete shite. A tell ma mum aboot the jellyfish,

‘They cin still sting fir years after they’ve died, how weird is at?’

‘That’s good. Any luck on the job search?’

‘Eh- naw yet.’

A say naw yet, but A huveny looked. Sorry mum, A’ve been unable to apply tae jobs on Indeed today. A’m hinking aboot deed jellyfish instead. A’m losing ma mind. A’m falling apart. A wanty change everything aboot maself. A feel so alone. A’m huvin weird dark scary thoughts aboot stuff. The scary thoughts won’t stop.

A try tae pinpoint when A started falling apart. And A hink behind every drink, laugh, bloody tongue, joke, drunk kiss, blackout, fake smile and declined plus wan invitation. Behind aw that, A wis always falling somewhere. The brewing is over, and A’m overboiling. Lit the hangover or come doon ae the fucking century and A’m sat wae the aftermath ae it aw. Am sat wae the aftermath ae maself. And who dae A talk tae when A feel like this? Ma friends aren’t atty cliff anymair, it’s only me.

A write, help.

Illustration by Laura Darling