I sleep poorly. My body not comfortable for more than a few minutes. When I wake up, and I don't want to get up. I gaze upon my depressing room, twisting my back to get the knots out from sleeping on the floor. Today isn't a day that my views are in-line.
I have things I've put off. Because I've been so tired. So fatigued. I can't make myself eat often. I dig deep for anything that helps. I need exercise. But when I go to exercise, my entire body feels disgusting. Sweaty, and hairy, just unsatisfactory.
Despite the state of my body and mind, I push myself off the floor, tucking my chin and waiting for the dizziness of stress and malnourished to subside. I stumble through what things need to be done before I leave. I check some things 3 or 4 times before I go. I have to unplug all the outlets in my room and put away anything valuable before I leave.
I'm fatigued and disoriented. I dig deep for anything that will help. I don't really care what it is. At one point, I think of my girls. Waiting for something to happen so we can live together. I miss holding them. Tears well up, and I push myself out the door. It's bright, hot, and loud. I put headphones in, and take off my shirt. I'm tired before I get to the road. I take a rest, and think of my girls again. Tears start coming.
I gather all my strength and push on. It's less than half a mile to the office. I stop at the main road to catch my breath. Chest is tight. I feel people looking at me. I look in their direction and see housewives running "errands" in their big SUV's. Their thoughts are half suspicious, half sexual. I wish they knew how easily their thoughts can be read. Maybe then they would be more considerate.
I glide down a slight hill, staying under the shade of the sidewalk trees. Every push is exhausting, and I lean on my knees with my hands as I roll along. The tightness, shortness of breath, fatigue--it becomes too much. But I have to get this done. It's the only thing even close to bringing my family together. I take a pill that's supposed to calm me down and make me okay with things. In other words, it's supposed to turn me into an ordinary person.
I put it under my dry tongue, trying to avoid reading the thoughts of passerby's. When I look at their faces, it's obvious. So I rarely look at faces, ever. Except my baby girl. Her face is still relatively innocent and simple.
It's uphill now. A song comes on that makes me feel like "I know, right!? FUCK. Let's do this" and I push on, feeling a little bit better. My shoulders ache after just a few blocks. I rest again.
Eventually I show up to the office. There are many people. I find a shady tree nearby. Put my shirt on, and prepare my defenses as much as possible. It's a place people go when they are suffering, afterall. The pill is kicking in, but it's not much of a change. I'm sweating yet cold.
I check to make sure I didn't forget anything, and I walk in. I'm confused by how the room is setup. I can't look at all the many faces. They have pain, frustration, confusion, despair. Even a child is pitching a tantrum. Why would they cram all that energy into one place?
A kind security officer helps me quickly get done what I need to get done, and then I leave--surprised how quickly it was over. On the way home, I observe that the pill I took, although it relaxes, it has an effect similar to alcohol. Which means it pushes my conditioned self to the forefront, and leads to crying. I can't take this stuff anymore. It doesn't work. I'll just have to tough it out.
I made it home, and even though I walked very slowly to get there, I got in the house and felt exhausted. Like I'd been bombarded by negative mind states in a war zone. I almost collapsed. I was huffing and puffing, trying to keep it together so my roommates wouldn't see it.
I just had to get to my room. Once I did, what has been happening, happened again. As soon as the door was shut, and I had prepared myself to keep it quiet; I sobbed, and sobbed. Maybe "sobbed" isn't the right word. I released everything I had experienced, and it came as tears flowing down my cheeks. Eventually I reached out to my Mother. She tried to fix it. I explained to her that everything was okay, but I needed to cry. I needed a warm heart to let me express the pain.
Soon after, I took my usual medication, at its regular interval. Now I feel better.