The Shock

There were several things of note that day; all would have served as a warning if she had bothered to read the signs. First, for breakfast, he could not remember what one called browned, crispy bread. Every adjective came to mind, but “toast” had been removed from her vocabulary.

At one particular point in the day, she noted to her significant other the instance of persistent heartburn she was experiencing, for the first time in quite a while.

She had her coffee, as normal - five artificial sweetener packets and two tablespoons of the new creamer she had brought home the day before. She mused to herself what a complete waste that had been; for it tasted exactly the same as the different flavor sitting in the refrigerator. That, too, should probably have been a clue.

No breakfast on this lovely autumn morning. Just a cup of coffee and a true crime program. She remembers thinking to herself, almost comically, “This man was an idiot.” She loved those shows - the ones on the newsy-documentary filled channels. She had always had a curiosity about people and what made them do the things they do.

She went back to bed. She had been feeling tired, lately, and blamed early onset peri menopause. She tried to sleep but, much like the days and weeks that preceded today, all she could do was frustratingly and silently beg for sleep.

Life, and the world around you, takes on an entirely different aura for those who sleep evades. After rearranging the sheet and blankets, adjusting the thermostat what seemed like thirty times, and attempting every possible position at least thrice, she finally gave up.

Exhausted and exasperated, she begrudgingly shuffled through the house, preparing things for that night’s event. She had been looking forward to the gaming session. Becoming M was fun and exciting. And, as she normally did on those days, she invited her significant other to go grab some dinner with her.

Though excitement of stepping into M’s shoes delighted her, she was hard pressed to beat a path through the exhaustion (and depression which normally accompanied it) to allow M’s light to shine through.

Nonetheless, they acquired their sustenances, travelled back home to be extremely American and have their dinner in front of a screen. A new Halloween special played while they dined and traded sarcastic comments and talked about M and all her friends.

Then, suddenly, the rest and quiet she had yearned so fraughtfully for set upon her. No warning. No sudden panic. Only darkness, painlessness, peace, and quiet.

That blissful, restorative quiet. And so, for what could have been eternity, she slept. The pain of being reawakened has not left her. The exhaustion and exasperation lingers.

So, once again, she finds herself longing for sleep. Only now, it’s hard to find M, who she misses. She wants so badly to fall back into M’s head and share her story with others… but M is quiet. Even though nothing else is. And all she wants is to reconnect or find that peace once more.

The in-between is the true hell. Being stuck between the memories and the knowledge that you’re supposed to recognize and comprehend what goes on around you. You’re supposed to be M. When it’s your turn to speak, you’re supposed to speak as her with no hesitation.

No hesitation. This doesn’t seem to be something I am ready for. So, I sit and wander in my head, trying to figure out what M is doing right now.

One day soon, I will reconnect with her.

Together again. No hesitation.