A barking dog, the hum of a tractor, a basketball pounding the pavement……all the typical noises of a traditional Sunday afternoon. My husband is making his famous soup trying to cure the house of the illness running rampant through it. But, I still feel alone. Even around the people I love the detachment I feel causes me panic and restlessness. On the outside people who know me see that something is wrong. On the inside nobody could imagine the monstrosity that rips through my body. Distress creeps through my blood. I begin to dread the restlessness and panic that shiver down my spine. Misery is now trapped in my body and even my sweat is full of panic.
My son sits beside me on the couch smiling and showing me his loose tooth. Captain America is getting his fish tank cleaned. But I still feel alone.
It is a sad place to be when you feel like there is something missing. There is a place inside that is hollow. Where is that place? That dark, empty, hole that erupts so viciously but then quickly simmers down so silent I can not find where it has gone. What does it need? It taunts me from the dark but why won’t it talk to me? As soon as I can fill this emptiness it desires more. This craving has become a part of me.