Home. I am lonely, quiet, and alone. Inside, the silence is loud, and thoughts are unrelentingly assaulting my brain. Outside, the noise of life moving is too overwhelming and hurts my ears.
On the trail, running. Concentrating on my footfalls, I try to run down the thoughts in my head. I’m sweating and breathing. The sky is beautiful, blue, and full of pure white clouds. The woods, starting to steam from the summer heat, smell of Earth and damp. It is comforting.
I drive slow. I listen intently to the classical music coming from the car radio. Music often hurts, lyrics are too much, but silence is deafening.
I’m standing on one foot, looking in the refrigerator and cupboards.
I’m not actually hungry. I never am anymore. Food is tasteless. I take some bites anyway.
Kneeling on the bathroom floor. I am pleading with myself to keep the food in, keep it down. My body ignores my pleas.
The pain of retching, the burning in my throat. Tears in my eyes from the violence of it all.
I’m shaky and broken. I suffer in my sickness, in a deep hole of despair.