Waking up is like drowning in cold water. The first five minutes my eyes are open, I'm operating under nothing but the instinct to survive.
But surviving makes me late for work.
No one speaks of it but I hear their voices in my head. In my heart.
The coffee keeps me moving, keeps me b sweating, keeps me from thinking of the corroding feeling in my chest for seconds at a time. I ate a lonely breakfast too quickly so I could swallow my medicine alone.
Now it's lunch time and I'm not hungry. But I eat anyway, hoping to taste a little happiness.
I don't know what better is going to feel like so I don't know if it's coming.
Maybe better is how I feel right now.
I want to cry but every time I try, I can't.
My thoughts are all I can think about.
I'm a robot, a shell -
Going through the motions of life without feeling it.
I've become a replica of myself without consciousness.
All I do is eat and work. Sometimes they feel like the same thing.
I'm late from lunch now. I want to care.
I feel a mechanism ache in my chest - the one that's meant to care, but I don't.
I think about what to tell my therapist tonight, and I remember drowning when I woke up.
Cold, throat full of water, curled up in a dry bed.
I blame myself for being sick.
I want to cry, but I can't.
My whole body is restless, sore.
I jitter yet I feel static.
Am I even here?
If I left, would it even matter?
I keep having dreams that no one can see or hear me.
I don't know if I'm dreaming anymore.