Thursday, February 28, 2013

Take a peak

I wanted to start off by saying thank you to the people who have supported me, whether in thoughts or by reading my book. It's been amazing to see people who I haven't talked to in years, or whom I wasn't necessarily close to, giving me positive feedback and taking the time to let me know that they care. It's been overwhelming, and in a good way. It's reminded me that my life is so full of love that it's threatening to spill over. No, scratch that. It's past spilling over. I'm drowning in it and I can't help but feel blessed.

If you haven't gotten the chance to read my book or just aren't interested or don't have a kindle or are just completely annoyed with me and all my posting, here's a little excerpt to peak your interest. Well, at least that's what I hope it does. Maybe I'm giving myself too much credit. ;)

 
          It’s always the same; it starts in my fingers and toes, then travels up my arms and legs until it feels like they’re not even there. Soon it’s in my stomach, numbing the hunger and the nausea. Then my heart, slowing its rapid pace. Then my head, obliterating any thoughts or worries. I feel light, inconsequential. As if I’m watching from a distance, I see myself get up and turn the faucet. My hands are under the water. It’s cascading over each finger, down my wrist, splashing on the counter. I can see it but I can’t feel it. I don’t know how long I stand there before there’s a knock on the door.
            “Lo? You okay in there?”
            It’s Miguel but I don’t answer because I’m completely engrossed with the water. It’s beautiful, pure, predictable. I wish the sink was bigger so that I could immerse myself in it.
            The tub.
            The water sprays to life, turned on as hot as it can go. The tub starts to fill so I take off my clothes and sink into it. It creeps up my thighs, my torso, cups my breasts. I sink lower and it devours my shoulders, my neck, my head. It consumes me, cradles me, carries me. The burning in my lungs is only a distant feeling. Something tells me I should come up for a breath but I can’t feel my body enough to control it, can’t tell where I end and the water begins.
            Just as I’m about to give up, to accept the fact that the water and I are one, I’m violently ripped away. Strong hands are pulling me out, wrapping me up, holding me. Rocking me. Soothing me.
            “Jesus Christ, Lo. It’s okay. You’re gunna be okay.”
            Miguel’s words barely register. It’s not okay. Nothing will ever be okay. All I know is that my body is refusing to stay awake.
            “How much did you take?”
            He’s shaking me, gripping my arms so tight that I actually feel it. What did he just ask me? His eyes look so much like Danny’s, but only the color. Dark, so dark that the irises and pupils blend together. But Miguel’s are softer, kinder. Maybe he could love me. I press my unfeeling lips against his, but he pushes me away. He doesn’t want me.
            “Stop, Lo.”
            He doesn’t want me. No one wants me.
            I’m picked up and carried into Danny’s room, placed on the bed softly. Miguel dresses me, forces water down my throat, lays me on my side. Holds my hair and a bucket as my stomach convulses over and over. I think I’m dying. I want to die. It’s cold. I don’t want to feel anymore but it’s all coming back to me. Now my body’s shaking with tears, overflowing and flooding and I swear to god I’m drowning. They don’t stop falling and Miguel doesn’t leave my side. He sits in a chair by the bed and rubs my back, tells me over and over that everything will be okay.
            Not it won’t! I want to yell, because I’m stuck here with Danny and I need him to keep my bottles full. I’m so tired, tired of fighting, tired of trying, tired of living, but I keep going because even though I’m scared of this life, I’m terrified of disappearing altogether.
            For right now, though, I’m just tired of being aware so I close my eyes and let the quiet of Miguel’s judgment pull me under. Except that I don’t find peace in sleep. Instead, I’m locked away, behind a door so thick and heavy that it can’t be opened, in a room so dark my eyes might as well be closed. It’s cold and quiet. Nobody else exists. I’m in a world of my own, left to suffer alone. Nobody will come to save me. I’m a damsel in distress, but there will be no hero. There will be no happy ending. Outside of these thick walls, beyond this encompassing dark, my story does not exist. I do not exist