I shake with the rage of sleeplessness, wracked with the sting of paranoia. I know there are hidden things. In this world, objects become symbols and these symbols are as true as anything a doctor could tell me in the waking world. Awake already at 11pm, ready to fight another day. I put the nightmare behind me; I cannot stay sane if I do not.
If I pinpointed my ovulation correctly, my period should be here tomorrow. Three days of bleeding, then I start the Femara. I try to find hope and positivity. I try to revive my unicorn. I wish I had another year to lick my wounds, but I just don’t.
And I want to take to the streets and feel the pavement beneath my feet and watch the silent buildings and hear laughter coming from bars and maybe I’ll feel a sense of connection to the girl I was before, before RPL and before my life became a journey of grieving and the tears stopped stopping and I could still move and breathe.
I kick the blankets off and grab for my Levis and sneakers, the door clicks softly behind me and I think I am free...