Loved but Lonely

I woke up to pain in my abdomen. I hadn’t been to the doctor since they called 6 months before attempting to schedule a follow up appointment. Who cares? There’s absolutely no point anymore. I rolled over and reached for my phone, anticipating the notifications to consume at least an hour of my time. It was nice that people cared about me, and I was obliged to express that. I scrolled through the birthday wishes and attempts at catch-up before plopping my phone down next to me and letting out an exaggerated sigh. They’re just being nice. It’s all out of love. I held back tears behind the wall of my eyes and stuffed negative thoughts into the box in my mind. I let out another sigh, and picked up my phone again.

After replying to what felt like hundreds of messages, I made my way to the bathroom, walking carefully to avoid any pain. A tear escaped my left eye as I studied the face in the mirror. I exhaled and wiped the water across my cheek. This hurt. It seems to never end. The anticipation makes it hurt more. Blotting my tears, smoothing my hair, covering my face with makeup. It all could only take me so far. It only presented a happy, healthy woman who led a great life. I hid away the feelings I refused to unload on others. I replaced them with an act, and carried the burden on my own.

Laughter echoed from down the stairs, where my family gathered to surround me with love. Being around those who were happy to see me happy was a constant reminder of the sadness I felt every second of each day. It forced me to recognize the dissatisfaction I felt within my life, and the way I was choosing to live it. It forced me to recognize the lack of control I had over my existence. It forced me to recognize that the facade I had upheld for so long caused my feelings to never change, as if I were frozen in time. I was always sad, and the happiness and love around me ironically made me that much sadder. I didn’t know where to turn besides isolation: an empty, silent room where I sat and could be entirely myself; where I could accept my pain without worrying who saw or was affected by it. Sometimes it felt hard to breathe when thinking about where I was in life, and where I wanted to be, and where everyone else had perceived me to be.

I walked down the steps preparing my mask: a sweet smile, not too wide, and bright eyes that no one knew sparkled only from the aftermath of fallen tears. Cousins and family friends sat in the kitchen, eating food and enjoying each others’ company. I walked into the room and every face turned to me, wide smiles beaming with love. Don’t cry. My mouth twitched and I quickly contorted it into the smile that people said brightened rooms. I held back more tears behind the wall of my eyes and stuffed more negative thoughts into the box in my mind.

“Happy birthday,” my cousins cheered in unison. A laugh broke free from my lungs. My favorite cousin pivoted his head from behind the others and winked at me. If only you knew everything. I walked into the group, hugged by everyone that could reach me.

“Okay, okay, let her breathe,” my mom walked towards the kitchen island and set down a chocolate cake. The Happy Birthday, Claire! piped in pink frosting sat neatly in the center, so I knew it wasn’t homemade, but my mom had brought it out on a crystal cake platter. Through the glass door that looked into the backyard I saw my kid cousins playing in the pool, splashing water into the sky. My stomach twinged, and I smiled.

“Where’s Bea,” I finally spoke up, asking about my sister.

“She’s setting up the table outside. Are you ready for some cake? I made it myself,” my mother laughed. She knew damn well everyone in the kitchen was aware she bought it from the grocery store. I squinted and turned my lips upward into a smirk. Our eyes met and her smile widened, “Take your cake and find a seat out back, I just need to grab the ice cream and the celebration can commence!” My mother handed me the cake platter and nodded toward the back door. Everyone in the kitchen besides my mom followed behind me.

We sat around the wrought iron table as each person took turns sharing their favorite memories with me, along with all that they believed I would accomplish in life. The weight sitting in my stomach grew heavier. I took a swig of ice water and washed down the anxiety that was creeping up my throat. Everyone saw so much in me. Everyone laughed and smiled speaking of successes that hadn’t occurred yet, and never would.

It was becoming hard for me to stay present. I no longer could hear the words my loved ones were saying. They were muffled by the thoughts that filled my head, as I anxiously tried to keep the box closed. I focused entirely on not breaking, not crying or screaming or attempting an escape. My favorite cousin stood up for his turn to speak.

“You have grown into everything I imagined. I knew you would be special, and go on to accomplish great things in life...”

His voice trailed as I stared into the slice of chocolate cake in front of me. I can’t take this. I can’t take this. I can’t take this anymore.

“... More than anything, you are a light in the darkness. Your positivity through every hardship, and happiness through every-”

I lost control of my body. It jerked and stood up against every thought screaming for it to stop. My chair fell back and hit the cobblestone with a clank. Every face turned to me, sullen frowns glooming with worry. All of the built-up energy I held inside my body was being released. Tears were flooding my face as my hand formed itself into a fist and punched the slice of chocolate cake that sat innocently on the plate in front of me.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I sobbed, “I have nothing left. I have no time left.”

“Time for what,” my sister spoke softly, confused.

“I’m dying inside. My organs are failing, my body is giving up. I’m waiting to die.”

My mother’s glass fell from her hand and the liquid spread over the table, but no one realized or cared. My sister’s eyes welled with tears. My favorite cousin fell back into his seat, his head hung as his hands reached up to cover his face.

“You’re joking,” my mother couldn’t find anything else to say.

“No,” I began to replace my mask, wiping away tears with regret, “Dr. Singh told me six months ago I needed to take action, and I never went back.”

“Why,” tears fell from my mom’s blue eyes. They got brighter and more beautiful when she cried. I looked around at all of my people’s faces in pain. My kid cousins whimpered in their mothers’ arms, my uncles sniffled behind birthday napkins, and Bea stared up at me silently weeping. This is everything I wanted to avoid. I avoided it for so long. My cousin stood up, his chair falling the same way mine had. He pulled me into a bear hug and I closed my eyes, dropping my forehead to his chest. I felt warmth all around as more arms enclosed me in the hug, and I began to sob. My mask fell again.