It’s just marking days until the pain goes away. What began as an emotional burden, has turned physical. I am awkward and careless. A soreness has me by the bones. It aches and it throbs, yet no fever is present. It is something leaving me, or something changing within me. I cannot say.
I bargain with the willful child inside. If she can keep herself from looking for her security blanket, I can put on my shoes, I can stand, I can walk. But she wants Robert’s warmth, and I do not know how much longer I can deprive her of him.
I am scared to change my life. Let me sit in this spot. Nothing can harm me here. I will look away, so as to not envy others with courage.
These antidepressants are doing nothing for me. They are pills to take, and not pills to be trusted. They are money wasted.
This confusion is taking me in at the waist. I weigh nothing. Here, observe me as I become a ghost. Let them deny my existence. I already do.
Write and sleep. Sleep and write.