Too Exhausted For Thinking
The buzz of the bathroom fan whirred overhead and the florescent lights stung my eyes. Staring ahead at the sterile white tile walls, closing my eyes ever so often - not knowing how long they were closed - or if I'm dreaming this whole thing.
I sit and I sit - I wait.
I wait for my stomach to push out the b.m. that I know is in me - but it just won't come out. I wait to throw up again in the plastic bag I snagged from the nearest waste basket.
I wait for this foggy nightmare to be over - but when I open my eyes - the cool tile wall is still pressing against my temple and the whir of the fan is still vibrating in my ears.
I give up and wash my hands - I look up to the girl in the mirror and she is un-recognizable. Face glistening from sweat, pale as a ghost, dark circles have encompassed her eyes, the beautiful crystal blue of her eyes has been replaced by a glossy grayness. I rinse my mouth out - and pray that this is the last of it for the day.
I pray for sleep - because sleep is the only solace I have. In the early morning when my body wakes up and my brain starts ticking - I squeeze my eyes shut praying that I may not wake up.
Awake = sick.
I'm sorry for those that yearn for this - that make deals with God to just give them a child. I feel like a selfish and spoiled brat for even wishing for a second for this to all go away. I realize that others have had it worse - much worse. I know these things - but it doesn't make the girl in the mirror anymore normal - or anymore me.