They rolled all night one right after the other. Finally I took a sleeping pill.
When I awoke to prepare for the workday my eyes were swollen from crying. Bloodshot and sore I told them I would be late.
Three hours of sleeplessness and a bucket of tears later, I called out.
The jar of rational thought became sealed tighter and tighter until I could no longer hear what reality sounded like. All I could make out was the staticky white noise of panic.
I clawed at my skin. A habit id developed when I was trying to avoid the attacks. If I could channel the pain somewhere else, sometimes they wouldn’t come so strongly.
Today I was just left with welts on my skin and a body sore from the havoc the attacks leave.
Every hurt is a sore. It’s how the pain gets out and the healing gets in. I tell myself to soothe my spirit. I am still healing.
I roll over as Annie leaves wishing me good night. A noise from upstairs startles me and I begin to cry. So I slip my hand under my shirt and dig my nails into my skin. I can breathe again. I know I shouldn’t. But right now if it takes a bit of pain to make it stop…to dull the pulse of that deep vibrato of hurt from resounding within me. I chew hard on my tongue until I can taste blood in my mouth.
As if on cue, my eyes get heavy. Now I can rest.