I wake in the morning and I don't know who I am. The pounding monster inside my chest shatters my entire existence. I am cold and stripped blank. I don't remember if I lived.
My bedroom seems far away and unfamiliar, as though I've wandered out of it. I feel the need to take a shower. Badly.
I scrub until my skin is red and tender, but I know the dirt is still there from the night before. I can see it glaring at me, mocking my efforts to wash clean. It knows I am weak. I try to hold back my tears of frustration at my skin, at myself.
Frustration alone keeps me alive, feeling, wishing. It forces blood to continue running through my veins. I blame myself. I cringe thinking about how I writhed in pain and bit my lip until it bled to stop the scream from waking the neighbors.
How unnatural it felt.
My spirit leaves its body during those nights. I am losing weight and sleep.
I look in the mirror and don't see myself anymore.
Text by Maggie Kacer