Watching From Across the Room

I’ve watched myself this time, from the chair across the room. I have watched and listened as I cried through the night. I’ve seen the sheets rumple and toss as my legs kick them, over and over. The computer is pulled toward me, the plug ripped out of the base. I’ve seen my arms get skinnier, I’ve seen my stomach shrink a little.

At night I hear my stomach growl, and it is loud. Rachel hears it, she is next to me, we are stranded and the snow piles and piles outside.

“Want me to take you to the ER?” My mother asks this tonight. I grunt. I shake my head.

If I go, I will be admitted. I can’t be admitted. I have things to do.

My body grows weaker with each bite of food I don’t take. I slide Ramen noodles down my throat, the sodium will bloat me but it is carbohydrates and I need something. Icy Gatorade is all I can sip. I bite the straw so hard. I feel like I am growing new teeth, my gums are bleeding.

I wanted to eat Christmas ham and turkey. I wanted the catered penne vodka. But we all 
have things we want but don’t get.

I’m watching this time, I am still smiling. I still feel the rush of new feelings. 

I dance across the hardwood floors to make sure I can still get up. I get my own ice. I plan to memorize the United State Presidents by date. I organize my thoughts so that they do not drift into the Bad.

I write about characters who are healthy, who swim and jump around. I write about them and for a minute, their bodies are mine.

I am watching. I am here. I am not letting go.
 
I will not. I will not let go.