I wake and roll over in bed. Another day inside. Another day alone. My cat jumps up and snuggles up to me purring. I pet her with disinterest. I used to enjoy her presence.
Now she just reminds me that I have a responsibility to get out of bed. I don't want to get out of bed. I have no interest in eating or watching tv.
But I am not a heartless person so I drag myself up into a sitting position. I peer out the silent window. Down into the silent street.
I wonder If anyone else is having trouble getting up or if it is just me.
In the kitchen, I open a can of cat food for my fluffy insistent friend. The thought crosses my mind that I should also eat. I bend over and pour the cat food into the blue bowl on the floor.
The cat immediately starts lapping up her breakfast. I toss the can into the trashbin and move to get my own bowl out of the kitchen cabinet.
As I do I think "cinnamon or corn Chex?" At which point I leave the bowl sitting on the counter because the choice itself is just too much. I don't have the energy to care.
Back in my room again I crawl into my bed and pull the covers up over my head. I am so tired. I just want to sleep. And sleep I do. Before I know it half the day is passed.
I roll over and look at the red numbers on the clock sitting on the dresser across the room. 11:36 am it glares at me. I don't care though. I don't care about anything.
I roll back over and stare at the wall.
What am I doing here? What is my purpose? I feel so hopeless right now. I am drowning. Does anyone even know or care?
"Meow." Well, one creature does. Time for lunch. As I drag my sorry ass out of bed again I think about a shower, but the thought just makes me even more tired. I continue to the kitchen.
Again I feed the cat. Again I think about and decide not to eat.
This time I flop myself down on the couch. Maybe I could watch a show. I still have Netflix and they have several shows that used to pique my interest.
After 45 minutes of watching trailers, I finally give up. Back to the safety and comfort of my bed.
I go back to sleep, but it is a fitful sleep. I dream of horrible things. Drowning. Being held hostage. I finally wake up enough to get a handle on reality.
Is it 5:00 pm already? I peer out the window and see a lonely car drive into the driveway across the street. I pull the curtain back quickly. Time for dinner.
I look down to see my ever-faithful companion rubbing her self against my leg. Yes, I think. Time to feed her again.
I finally look in the cupboards and find a box of Girl Scout cookies I have been saving. I decide this will be my dinner. I sit on my worn leather couch again and pick up the remote.
I turn on Life After because it seems to fit my mood. Only I don't really watch it. I crunch on the cookies and think about how much easier it would be to not be here.
Could I do it? Could I end my life? The way is not the problem. It is the realization that I don't know what is waiting for me on the other side. Is it worse? Is it better? Is it nothingness?
While I sit and ponder I hear the keys in the door. In walks my dear sweet son. He is only eighteen years old. Working and going to school. Trying to make a life for him and me.
He sets down his stuff and comes over and hugs me and says, "Mom are you doing ok?"
"Yes," I reply. "I am ok."
This/him/he is the real reason I have not gone over that edge yet. And so I hang on for one more day.