You wake up and it’s the most depressing way to start your day. Rolling over you see the face of your sleeping significant other and it makes the fact you woke up a bit better but not by much. Guilt pools in your eyes and you blink them away, determined not to feel anything other than happiness today – but you already know it’s not going to happen from the pit in your stomach and the shake in your hands.
They wake up and your world brightens a bit more with the light in their eyes and their sleep laden voice. Their hands stop the shaking but nothing can stop the pit in your stomach and the sand that seemed to have gotten in your joints that prevent you from flowing. Luckily the creaking and groaning is only in your head but the sluggishness is obvious to anyone looking.
You spit out what used to be your favorite food – spaghetti and meatballs – in hopes of getting them off of your back about brunch, as bad as you feel about it. Too late you realize that means going out to eat and that means getting ready. Your bones break with a sigh you barely hold back.
Brunch is an ordeal: the place you go to doesn’t have spaghetti and meatballs so you order something else which is perfectly fine, just… now you don’t feel like eating but you have to so you scarf the food down in record time and feel sick. It takes everything in you not to throw up but you smile and laugh through brunch with your significant other. Hold their hand. Meanwhile the pit in the stomach is growing bigger and it has nothing to do with the meal you just swallowed whole.
Watching your significant other play their console is another thing that eases the shaking in your hands, especially as you’re playing with them. Concentration is needed and you can’t spare as much to the pit in the stomach, the sand gathering in your joints, or the black looming behind you just around the edges of your vision. Laughs are shared and smiles are shining. Eventually all good things seem to end though.
You leave the house. With other people: their niece and mother. Stress.
The pit in the stomach grows and grows and grows. The shaking starts again as miniature vibratos. The sand is leaking from you and you are surprised there isn’t a beach in the house from all of it you can feel coming out of you. Getting in the car the small chat is strenuous for you and you wonder how to impress. Or how to impress upon them that you are not at the moment dying of asphyxiation from anxiety.
Shopping is another ordeal. Stuck between staying with your significant other who wishes to go ahead with the niece in the cart or the mother who lags behind to look at shelves for things she needs. Leaving your love behind, or in front, and staying with their mother for politeness sake but feeling the pit in the stomach grow from ditching your love. Staying with your love but feeling the pit in the stomach double in size from being rude. No winning and stuck in the middle. And still smiles.
Getting back you eat, another moment of scarfing food down your gluttonous hole then feeling sick, and hide out in the bathroom with the excuse of a shower. And your hands shake, the sand turns coarse into rocks, and the darkness overwhelms you. The breath catches in your throat too fast and too loud in your ears. It goes on for far too long, too long in someone else’s restroom. No one comes knocking.
A shower clears your head enough to stop the shaking and you get ready for bed to start the day over again with the knowledge that both soothes and grows a pit:
Tomorrow’s another day.