This morning started with tea in bed and a few chapters of Stephen King’s “Mr Mercedes”
Then breakfast seemed like a good idea.
Few slices of bread from the freezer, eggs in to boil. Timer on.
Scoop the eggs out and run under cold water to cool the shells off enough to peel. Crush the first one and discover its not cooked, thin film of solid white and then just raw gloop.
Feel my mood crash to the floor.
Cook the second for 2 minutes longer, now been a total of 7 minutes, should definitely be done.
Repeat the rinse and peel.
More uncooked gloop running over my hand, dripping through the the gaps in my fingers onto the floor.
Lump in my throat, tears rolling slowly down my face and drip, drip, drip. To join the egg mess on the floor.
Spread almond butter on the now cold toast.
Choke back tears as I eat both pieces in exactly 40 bites each, feels like cardboard going down.
Walk around the common with a friend, talking about everything and nothing.
Meet some acquaintances for lunch and it’s actually okay. Talk about upcoming events, how they worked in the past. Game plan for next weekend. Eat, ignore the ticker tape that is permanent background noise.
“Fat, feel your thighs expand, double chin is back greedy. DON’T EAT THOSE, fries, fat. Whale, everyone is looking. Surprised you haven’t split those jeans yet”
Walk home, hummus and carrot sticks bounce, bounce, bouncing in my bag.
Burying myself in my duvet, huddled tight with no space for the cold to creep in.
Sipping low calorie hot chocolate. Book in one hand.
Rain pummelling the window. Thunder rolling close by. Maybe lightening, but light does funny things these days.
Reading, notebook and pencil close by.
Feeling the shadows approach, the creeping swirls of fog that lurk and wait.
Read some more, stare at the page so hard I’m surprised there aren’t scorch marks, curling pages, words burnt away.
Trying to hold onto the sort of calm from today. Hoping that if I’m good, eat melon for dinner, do my exercises, take my vitamins, phone someone. Close my eyes and beg.
That maybe the calm will stay, and the rushing, swirling hurricane of thoughts will stay at the edges, and not blur myself anymore.
Is one day of being okay too much to ask?