Pacing

Pacing. It always starts with the goddamned pacing. My footsteps were quiet against the linoleum floor, and my fingers ran against the walls and tables. This was supposed to calm me, so how come I feel worse.  Bedroom, fridge, kitchen, couch, repeat. My mum, bless her heart, always used to say I have ants in my pants. It’s cute when you’re a child, but no one has the patience for it when you become a self-destructive adult. But my brain is on my fire and I don’t know what to do with my hands.

I have grown so bored of my most recent distraction that it feels mindless, dull. Even somewhat tedious. I can feel my impatience growing, tugging at my senses like a child seeking attention. So, I pace. Through the corridors, to the living room, to the flower garden outside that used to make me smile. My palms are sweaty and I can’t keep my hands from shaking. There’s no more wall to run them along. I know what’s coming next and there’s no point fighting it anymore.

The pain surged through my body, and I could not hold the scream in anymore. The pounding in my head felt like the distant beat of a drum on my forehead as the pain rippled through my muscles. My gut emptied onto the flowers, I crumbled, curled up on the ground and whimpered like a child. I no longer had control, and each surge made my body twist and turn. I will soon start shaking uncontrollably, and I hate myself for ever leaving my bed. I know the stones will tear through my skin, etching a forever memory of my ordeal. I already have enough to show for my mistakes.

The sun’s heat is slowly creating dry prickly patches on my exposed skin, but my teeth knock repeatedly against each other. Bumps grow against my arms and my hair stands on end as I start to freeze from the inside out. My heart is hammering, beating insistently against my ribs like it’s trying to tear through them. My bones feel liquefied; like I’m only made of liquid goo and failing organs floating inside my human sack. I can feel myself begin to unravel, disintegrate.

Day and night blurred into each other, the unbearable brightness and cold silent darkness smashing together to create an eternal loop of writhing, groaning and gripping helplessly on the edges of my sanity. I battled with holding on to the pain with hope for redemption and slipping silently back into my self-destructive habits. I could feel the remnants of my drug-filled ecstasy clinging onto the edges of my fingertips and toes. Begging to be renewed.

I felt her walking towards me, hot, fast and angry like she always does. My eyes held shut but I could feel the ethereal air surrounding her divine form. She always comes to me when I am toeing that fragile line between sanity and the peace and quiet of a silent mind. She’s my bridge between the release of the afterlife and my never-ending agony. My spirit guide, with a fiery fury and merciful touch. I want to reach out and touch her, but the weight of my sins holds me down.

Her hands hot and icy, she wipes my brow. She whispers and screams, dragging my guilt to the surface and clawing at my skin. She throws herself violently against my chest and curls up on top of me. She warms me up, shows me that I’m hers and she’s mine. She drags my eyes open so that I can see what I have turned into. An empty shell, helpless, inadequate, decrepit. I can feel her lifting me off the ground, gracefully and effortlessly. We should be walking towards the light so why is it getting darker?

………….

The stones bit deep into me, breaking through my skin and leaving bloody shapeless imprints. A cold breeze swept over my bare body. Fighting to open my eyes felt like dragging my brain awake from a deep dark pit that tranquil rest. My conscience had laid roots there, and I had to dig deep before flowers blossomed and fruits of contentment ripened. I lay on my back and winced as my sides finally got relief. There was a crunch as I shifted my weight, and little stones clung on to my arm and thigh.

Dry eyelids shifted painfully, and I had to blink through the grit until my vision cleared. It’s a starless night. Of course. I’m used to this. I’m always just too late to witness beauty. It’s like I blink and in that fleeting second, it’s gone. The clouds hang low, and I can hear rumbling in the sky. Rain is coming. At least something is going my way. The air was acrid. The smell of my half-digested breakfast and unwashed body clung to the air over me, but I was too empty to react.

The first drops hit my face, and relief washed over me. The sky emptied its belly, and the upheaval washed over me like a cool shower after a long sunny day. I felt odd, like sudden clarity after walking through thick fog for hours. Like wearing glasses and seeing all the colors for the first time. This did not feel real; this could not be real. I do not get relief; I get overwhelming urges that threaten to push me over the edge if I don’t concede. This does not feel like me.

Water pooled around me, making my shirt cling to my skin, and dislodging the stones from my arms and thighs. I turned over and let it wash my back. My door and window were still wide open, and my curtains swirled in the wind. On all fours, I crawled inside. I watched pieces of me fall off, littering the wet muddy path I was slowly creating behind me. I will have nothing left to let go of by the time I get to my bed. I am out of breath and my stomach growled louder with each step.

My bones still felt liquid and the shower was too high up. I turned on the tap and let the icy water run over my body. Thunder is still rumbling outside, and I have my own little raincloud stripping away the dirt and little stones that still clung tightly on me. I watched it all go down the drain. I shouldn’t be this indifferent about it, but nonchalance is the only feeling I have enough strength to conjure. The last bits of me slunk off under the slow steady stream from the shower.

Dripping, I crawled to the kitchen. Soup, bread, fruit. I fervently tore through the protective film and scoped all I could fit into my fingers then into my mouth. I know my body is going to reject this all later with hot, gut-wrenching heaves into the toilet bowl. But right now, I’m ravenous and I can’t stop until I feel sick. I can feel the strength coming back, and I try to stand up. I’m wobbly, a little off balance. With little steps, I get to my bed and fell into a black, dreamless sleep.

……..

The sun’s out and the birds are chirping. I check my phone. It’s been six days. No calls, no texts. A bottle of water lies beside my bed. I feel like my sheets have formed an alliance with my skin, entombing me inside my bed. I don’t want to ever get out of here. My feet are restless. I need to pace. A whisper with the promise of eternal relief lingers in my ear. I need my fix. I was right, nothing’s changed after all.