It’s the same thing every morning. Thirty seconds of bliss between the waking up and the realization. Thirty entire seconds of being a normal sixteen-year-old. Thirty billion, blissful, amazing nanoseconds with no fucking anxiety.
And then the feeling falls over me like a lead blanket thrown from the sky. Not slow, like the dread that builds gradually as you flip through your binder, realizing with each empty folder that you forgot your research paper on the kitchen counter back at home. Nope, it doesn’t happen like that.
It slams into my body, full force into every cell of my skin, not caring that my shoulders are still sunburned, as I lie paralyzed in bed. The white blobs in the ceiling morph into blurred ghosts while all I can do is watch. And I am so completely alone.
With as much control as I can manage, my fingers slip from under the safety of my comforter and feel around on the nightstand. Shaking a pill into my palm, I toss my head back and swallow it with a sip from the pink cup next to my bed. I blanch at the taste of stale water, left over from last night. Soon the anxiety will wane. It never goes away, but it wanes. It’s the little things in life, or some crap like that.
So I get out of bed.
And I throw on some clothes.
And I stare into the mirror, telling myself I’ll get through another day. Because even when my thoughts are static TV channels and my hands are trembling and I feel like today is the day I will finally drop dead—I know that I won’t. Because I never do. That comforts me a little.
Only four more days until Aaron gets home.
Don’t forget to check out my review of Somwhere Only We Know from a few posts back! 🙂
About Cheyanne Young
Cheyanne is a native Texan with a fear of cold weather and a coffee addiction that probably needs an intervention. She loves books, sarcasm, nail polish and paid holidays. She lives near the beach with her family, one spoiled rotten puppy and a cat who is most likely plotting to take over the world.