15 Minutes

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Mom. Biopsies. Cancer. Results. Mom. How long. Exhausted. Mom. Maybe the weather. Stress.  I want to sleep. Why do I feel so hollow? Why do I feel as if someone else is talking out of my mouth? Why do I keep fumbling for words?  This is lunacy.  A nauseating, vile gnaw inside. Invisible shards of the takers, laughing and taunting.  Wrecking ball please! Take it out, shoot right through me and slaughter this corrosive THING inside me.  Damnit!  I thought this was gone.  There’s no cause for it now, no trigger. Or maybe, maybe it’s mom, these test results I still don’t have, mom.

This plague of thoughts and questions finally quiet, along with the steady spray of warmth from my shower.  It’s coming again.  Why?  I manage to stave it off.  I can still move; not reduced to an inanimate, immovable version of me.  Unable to speak, except for the tiny voice in my head which only I can hear.  I thought this was over.  Why is it coming back?  I’ve been doing so well. Filling myself with the good things instead of living off the bad. Damn you. Damn you who?  You will not win. Not unless I let you, which I sure as hell will not.

Blue piercing eyes look back at me through fog covering the mirror.  She and I have a little talk. There’s only one of us.  But sometimes I need to see my face and look into my eyes to remind myself this fight has already been won. Yes, I know that.  I know.  But why don’t I see anything behind those eyes?  Why can’t I FEEL anything inside this shell?

Infuriated. Sick. Scared. Pissed. I need this to stop.

Crap.  I’m going to be late.  And out the door I go. Wearing my façade as well as my favorite jeans.

Tomorrow please, return me……to me.

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