In The Dark
Peaks
A lot of people I know claim it's just a simple 'phase'.
Too many support groups during the almost nighttime is the only reason I can think of for the amount of emptiness I feel. Maybe the constant despair was finally getting to me. Or maybe I was just being an ignorant brat.
On Mondays, it was Alcoholic Anonymous. On Tuesdays, it was Anorexics and Bulimics. Wednesday was Anxiety. Thursday was for the Sex Addicts. Fridays were my favorite, though. Survivors of Abuse. Sexual, physical, or emotional. They were all talked about thoroughly.
Although I had no relation to any of the groups I went too, I felt a close connection to all those I met in them. Everyone talked so freely about their addictions and their past. All the remorse and guilt and fear they felt were shared with the others that occupied the room. And everyone accepted it with open arms and open minds, whether they knew what the person was going through, or not. After their story was told, hugs and words of advice would always followed.
I feel accepted there. Even though my stories were ones I read about in the paper or in books, I was always greeted with the pity and understanding of others.
Every walk to the support group would be filled with what felt like glares from those who passed by. Even with those who didn't even turn their heads, I felt the hate radiate from them. On the walk back to Laurie’s, it was the same thing. At work, it seemed to multiply, and every single one of my fellow employees seemed to either want to kill me with their staplers, or would want to hang me with the flag that stood in the corners of their classrooms. Even the kids would look at me with disgust, and the idea of them coming at me with screams and too sharp pencils wouldn't leave my mind for the rest of the school day.
That's when I would grab a bottle, and pop a few of the prescribed Ambien. Thirty minutes later and the insane pressure would go away. Everything would be perfect, and the only thing I would worry about was whether or not my coffee cup was filled.
–
“You want another cup?”
I look at the empty blue mug and shrug. “Sure.”
Laurie fills it, her little white wrists coming into view. They're tiny, almost too tiny, and I immediately think of Tylor, one of the regulars at Anorexics and Bulimics. He had red hair the last time I saw him, and had gained three pounds.
“Are you hungry?” She asks, back turning to. Her black hair was put up in a high ponytail, moving with every little turn.
“Not really.”
She moves to the fridge, pulling out a bowl of something yellow. I turn my attention to my little coffee mug, the coffee sitting and waiting. Just hoping to be sipped on. “Two hours,” I say. I take a drink of the hot liquid.
She makes a disapproving sound at the back of her throat. Her back's turned against me, blocking the view of whatever was so focused on. I smooth my skirt down. It was relaxing here, in Laurie’s green kitchen. I haven't even took one of the small red pills out of their container, yet. I deemed this day to be a good day.
A plate of toast is put in front of me.
“Eat,” she says, sitting in the chair across from me. “Did you take any of the new medicine?”
Yes. Too much, actually. Too much to the point past sleep. “No. I left them at home.” Lie lie lie.
I take a bite out of the toast that was coated in butter. So many calories in butter. So much fat added to my stomach. I picture Tylor again, and I scarf down what's left of the piece of toast. “I thought you sleep better here, anyways? What's different?”
“Everything.”
I look at Laurie's face, her eyes bright and childlike. Light green was the color of her eyes, just like my own. I wonder what my own eyes look like next to her. Tired? Stressed? Unfocused and guilty?
Her face was soft, round at the cheeks, pointed at the end. Her nose was small and her lips were full. She was beautiful and young. The total opposite of myself.
“Maybe you should take a few days off of work? Kindergarteners can wait a few days.”
I shake my head, gulping down the last of my coffee. “No,” I say. “Absolutely not. I need the money. And I need the distraction.”
“But at the worth of your health, Eve? Really.”
I nod. “I'll be fine. Seriously.” I get up, legs shaking a little in my black heels. “Thanks for the breakfast, Love.” I don't wait for a response, instead grabbing my bag and basically running towards her front door.
I take the first step out into the open air, heels clanking on the concrete. I don't feel the heat of anyone's look. Maybe today will be a good day.
Too many support groups during the almost nighttime is the only reason I can think of for the amount of emptiness I feel. Maybe the constant despair was finally getting to me. Or maybe I was just being an ignorant brat.
On Mondays, it was Alcoholic Anonymous. On Tuesdays, it was Anorexics and Bulimics. Wednesday was Anxiety. Thursday was for the Sex Addicts. Fridays were my favorite, though. Survivors of Abuse. Sexual, physical, or emotional. They were all talked about thoroughly.
Although I had no relation to any of the groups I went too, I felt a close connection to all those I met in them. Everyone talked so freely about their addictions and their past. All the remorse and guilt and fear they felt were shared with the others that occupied the room. And everyone accepted it with open arms and open minds, whether they knew what the person was going through, or not. After their story was told, hugs and words of advice would always followed.
I feel accepted there. Even though my stories were ones I read about in the paper or in books, I was always greeted with the pity and understanding of others.
Every walk to the support group would be filled with what felt like glares from those who passed by. Even with those who didn't even turn their heads, I felt the hate radiate from them. On the walk back to Laurie’s, it was the same thing. At work, it seemed to multiply, and every single one of my fellow employees seemed to either want to kill me with their staplers, or would want to hang me with the flag that stood in the corners of their classrooms. Even the kids would look at me with disgust, and the idea of them coming at me with screams and too sharp pencils wouldn't leave my mind for the rest of the school day.
That's when I would grab a bottle, and pop a few of the prescribed Ambien. Thirty minutes later and the insane pressure would go away. Everything would be perfect, and the only thing I would worry about was whether or not my coffee cup was filled.
–
“You want another cup?”
I look at the empty blue mug and shrug. “Sure.”
Laurie fills it, her little white wrists coming into view. They're tiny, almost too tiny, and I immediately think of Tylor, one of the regulars at Anorexics and Bulimics. He had red hair the last time I saw him, and had gained three pounds.
“Are you hungry?” She asks, back turning to. Her black hair was put up in a high ponytail, moving with every little turn.
“Not really.”
She moves to the fridge, pulling out a bowl of something yellow. I turn my attention to my little coffee mug, the coffee sitting and waiting. Just hoping to be sipped on. “Two hours,” I say. I take a drink of the hot liquid.
She makes a disapproving sound at the back of her throat. Her back's turned against me, blocking the view of whatever was so focused on. I smooth my skirt down. It was relaxing here, in Laurie’s green kitchen. I haven't even took one of the small red pills out of their container, yet. I deemed this day to be a good day.
A plate of toast is put in front of me.
“Eat,” she says, sitting in the chair across from me. “Did you take any of the new medicine?”
Yes. Too much, actually. Too much to the point past sleep. “No. I left them at home.” Lie lie lie.
I take a bite out of the toast that was coated in butter. So many calories in butter. So much fat added to my stomach. I picture Tylor again, and I scarf down what's left of the piece of toast. “I thought you sleep better here, anyways? What's different?”
“Everything.”
I look at Laurie's face, her eyes bright and childlike. Light green was the color of her eyes, just like my own. I wonder what my own eyes look like next to her. Tired? Stressed? Unfocused and guilty?
Her face was soft, round at the cheeks, pointed at the end. Her nose was small and her lips were full. She was beautiful and young. The total opposite of myself.
“Maybe you should take a few days off of work? Kindergarteners can wait a few days.”
I shake my head, gulping down the last of my coffee. “No,” I say. “Absolutely not. I need the money. And I need the distraction.”
“But at the worth of your health, Eve? Really.”
I nod. “I'll be fine. Seriously.” I get up, legs shaking a little in my black heels. “Thanks for the breakfast, Love.” I don't wait for a response, instead grabbing my bag and basically running towards her front door.
I take the first step out into the open air, heels clanking on the concrete. I don't feel the heat of anyone's look. Maybe today will be a good day.