via Daily Prompt: Volunteer
I cry. Scream.
I am twenty-seven and I still want to call for my mom.
I never remember how bad it can get and every time I swear this is the worst it has been. When a part of your brain casually sits in your neck a cough is the boogeyman. The haunting fear, the arresting irrational depraved anxiety that sits in the corner of you head and whispers sad little thoughts.
I am in the kitchen. How am I here? Oh god, do I go to the hospital? Can you hear me screaming, mom? Is it out loud? I feel my throat being ripped; I can taste the blood and rawness, the edge of my sanity as rough as my throat. Is this the end? The 10 on the pain scale I have always been too frightened to give? The bile, I can taste the codeine infused bullshit cough medicine weakened through the mediocrity of Medicaid mixed with the soup. Not to feel better but because my weak arms and wobbly feet could only do so much, I can only stand for so long with out crying and crying is only to be outdone my the cough only to be outdone by the gagging of the cough only to be outdone by the hyperventilating sob infused screams of fears, that this is my future.
I did not volunteer for this, I was drafted.
Born and undiagnosed with malformed brain only to be diagnosed and unbelieved. Like I wanted this.
Like I hoped for this. I
… see it in your eyes when I need an extension, when I call and say I cant. Not tonight. Not now. I see the darkness in your heart when it beats here we go again. Look at me.
Look at me and maybe you will see the darkness I sit in, surround myself in, cry in, beg god in, and here we go again in.
I did not volunteer for this.
I was drafted.