Have you ever felt so sad, so desperately lonely that you’ve wanted to throw up?

I lie in bed every night and I’m okay. I’m alright. The part of me that’s crippled will always be there so it doesn’t bother me anymore. It’s that little shadow on my shoulder. But as the night crawls on and the loneliness settles deeper within the crevices of my heart, flowing through my aorta, I feel sick. My stomach churns and my eyes sting. I continue to lie there, letting the emotions race through me. I would have called it a storm if I was new to this. But it’s not; it’s no storm. A storm has no direction. This? This is more like a herd of wild horses racing in one direction. I let it gallop over me.

One moment my stomach is an endless pit and I can’t stop myself from raiding the kitchen for whatever appealing food I can find. I sit and stuff my face with it until I glance at the mirror and my throat narrows, choking me and my chest clenches. I push the food away, clutching my stomach and crying. Why am I crying? Why does it feel so horrible? Who do I feel so ugly? Why do I eat more than I should and then resent myself for it? Should I vomit it out? Do I want to go down that path? I don’t know. I have no answers. I like back down.

My stomach is in knots now. My heart aches and my eyes are swollen. My head throbs and my arms flop on the bed as though I can no longer hold them up. Tears leak over my temples and onto my pillow unchecked but I don’t care. The ceiling is a wonderful object to continue to stare at. The wings of the fan move so confidently and swiftly. They know their purpose.  I think I’ll continue staring at them until dawn.

Everything is turning numb. My gaze is blurring. My mind has long since wandered from the blades of the fan. It’s focusing on a different kind of blade now. I shake my head to make myself forget the thought of it. Sometimes I wonder if the fan would break if I hung from it. And it frightens me.

The loneliness continues to pull me in like quicksand. I reach out; my hand stretching towards the sky as I try to keep my head above the proverbial water. The need for alcohol and cigarettes engulfs me. I don’t let myself take that course. I know I won’t have the energy to fight it off when it gets too much and I’ll spiral into yet another kind of hell. But the want doesn’t disappear. I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind a million light-years away and my torso arches off the bed with the effort to tamp down the need coursing within me. I feel desperate and needy and out of control and yet I feel numb.

I’m not sure what I’m feeling but I know I’m a mess. Someday, I’ll figure it out. Until then, I’ll continue to rub my soul on paper.