“She’s really honest.” I heard my new nurse tell the doctor I hadn’t met yet. Turns out she’s fresh out of Med school and was overwhelmed.
“He tested positive for cocaine” I heard come over the walkie talkie she had on her scrubs. I scrunched my face- why would the woman on the other end just announce that? Continue reading
I don’t want you to go to bed mad at me is a song Matthew used to play from the other room while I tried to cry myself to sleep in our bedroom. We were in the first home as a married couple and we were so broke, we didn’t have a door on the master bedroom. My now two year old son’s room was marvelously decorated, though. Matthew had spent hours painting and my now fiancé Alex even contributed in some way, I believe. I have always made horrible choices in interior decoration, but I chose the baby blue color and brown trim; Matthew wanted antique trucks and cars. Continue reading
I nestled my head in his shoulder a little deeper. Trying not to become addicted to his smell, I felt him rub his hands up and down my back. I shuddered; usually that meant I was expected to have sex. I had already pulled away from him and told him I hadn’t eaten all day. Lunch was sitting there piping hot ready before work to prove that he was appreciated. Matthew always reminded me how much he hated eating my “leftovers”. How hard is it to use a microwave, really? At least I cook for you and I’m darn good at it, too. Dizziness struck me like it always did around this time, but my inquisitive look took over my face; why didn’t I say goodbye to him before he left for work? Matthew would ask everyone who would listen why his wife didn’t greet him at the door in a good mood when he got home from work, especially when I was standing right there.
“Sometimes I need the chance to say good-bye to you before work so we can do this.” I mumbled into his ear and sunk into him as the tension left my body. I fought back tears.
“Are you okay?”
He knows me. I forget this, sometimes. Continue reading
I used to only write when I was amazingly depressed. Maybe that’s why I’ve sat and stared at the screen wondering where to start. The depressing break up music is on and I’m all alone left to my thoughts and yet I don’t feel like I have some deep dark need to stop myself from suffocating. I know exactly how nearly suffocating feels; I’ve almost suffocated on purpose. Some people will suffer with the bitterness of their anger for the rest of their life. Me? I’m a survivor.
What No One Tells You About 