. drugs in my body

[astrid machiavelli]

i feel nauseous. my hands are shaking so badly that i can hardly hold the glass of water clutched in my skeletal hands. my vision goes in and out, the edges blurring in a familiar way that deepens the tremor in my bones. this sickness tugs at my stomach, driving me to grip the edge of the old marble sink. limpid pools stare back at me as i level myself with a gaze meant to snap myself out of this delirium. my parched lips form empty words, no sounds leaving them to fill this uncomfortable silence. i feel both suffocated and completely free, cornered and yet not. the shaking of my limbs causes the frosted glass to slip through my grasp, the shatter piercing the cloudy haze that has seemingly enclosed me. i take a step back, stumble, and the back of my knees collide with the edge of my unmade bed. my skin is crawling, cold grips my chest and i can hear the erratic beating of my heart within my ribs. blood is pounding against my eardrums and the inexplicable need to cry hits me. i gulp desperately for air, weak knees giving out beneath me as i collapse onto my bed. my cool sheets are sweet relief from the feverish heat that sets my nerves ablaze.

it's that memory of my sister and former boyfriend that has me so shaken. the nightmarish image of them is imprinted in my mind.

even as i gasp into my pillow, eyes squeezed shut as if to dispel the image, i am tormented by the belief that i had brought his infidelity upon myself. if i wasn't so sensitive, so adverse to touch, maybe things wouldn't have ended so horribly. i can't help it, though. i understand that i'm not quite right, that there is something wrong with me, and that it is out of my control, but that doesn't mean i like it or even remotely accept it. in all honesty, i hate it more than anything. i hate that i cannot bear to return my own father's hugs, that i cannot hold the hands of the ones i love, that i cannot even begin to explain as to why i am this way. it's a farce, a great joke meant to ruin the few fragile relationships i have been able to forge. i do not pity myself, though, not at all, but i still cannot stand to think of the toll that this disorder has taken on my life.

around dawn, the faintest traces of sunlight begin to filter into my spacious apartment. the rays illuminate the thin layer of dust that seems to rest on every surface, something that i have neither the desire nor patience to eradicate. piles of papers litter my floor and empty ink cartridges of fountain pens accompany them. my loft is a mess, but it is my mess, my sanctuary; it is the only escape i have from the hectic world just beyond the brick walls. it acts as a safe haven from all of the physicality and judgment of the outside world and for that, i am grateful. this is a place for me, although that privilege is extended to few others. of those few is matthew, my sister's fiancé. as i mull over the thought of him, my gaze passing over the iridescent shards of broken glass littering the floor, i realize that i am grateful for him, too.

despite all that i am faced with, i have things to be grateful for.

i pass into dreams with that knowledge, the faintest of smiles turning up my rosy lips.

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