3 A.m.

Most of the time, I spring up from bed at 3 a.m. with my stomach burning and a metallic taste in my mouth. This day wasn't any different; I sat up breathless, my ulcers irritating me, and death beckoning me. I breathe in and out before I stand and head to the kitchen. Half awake, I look around for something, anything, to save me from the discomfort that makes it hard to stand upright. I pour water into my glass and head to the living room, sitting as I sip my water slowly in the dark, appreciating all the days I never felt this way.

I hardly speak about my problems or even joys to anyone in my life. I have adapted to handling life on my own, going through it like an orphan. And that is why I am here, dying from the ulcers eroding my stomach, with no one to talk to other than to think in the dark. But thoughts don't pay that hospital bill or afford you healthcare. I reach for my phone and wonder if my mother in her hospital bed is awake or asleep. I wonder what will happen if I can find the money. They say they will only help if you show what you can do.

What can I do?

I am broke as a church mouse and at my end, but I know one way or another, the money must be found. I just don't know how.

I wish I drank, a poison to numb my thoughts and the pain in my stomach that feels like a wildfire has been set in it. I don't talk too much, not because I have a problem with people. It is in my nature, something that people have found unforgivable. Why? I presume people can't handle what they don't know, and most lack the will to learn and accept anything different from the acceptable - "You don't talk to us because you think you are better." Words I have heard several times, but still, time goes to prove them wrong.

The temporary effect of the cold water wears off; the burning feeling returns, and I feel too tired to walk back to the kitchen and refill it. I decide to reach for my antacid suspension. I am supposed to take it twice a day. I have been taking it at every slight discomfort. I desperately want to feel alive again. I want to sit at my brown desk, boot up my computer, log into my writing platforms, and write without feeling the discomfort that comes with each word typed, robbing me of any concentration. An attempt to think only worsens the pain. I want to enjoy my favorite foods and not survive on just steamed cabbage and carrots. Most importantly, I want my mother to be home. If only I can find the means, if only the pain at 3 a.m. can disappear. It reminds me of the responsibilities I have, unescapable responsibilities.

I switch on the television and lay on my stomach with a pillow underneath, applying more pressure, and it works as I watch. When the sun starts illuminating, I know it is another day to walk into the shower, a quick and brief one. Find anything to wear, throw my folder in, barely fitting, swing my green mini backpack on my back. It rarely matches with anything i wear.

I begin my day with a forced smile, pretending that I have slept the entire night, hoping today is the day I will receive the good news that I have been hired. But I know, at 3 a.m. again, I will be awake in pain, worse than I was days ago. My reality is louder than my pain.

Praying for everyone going hardships. It will pass.