Sickness

I burst into the hallway. It's only a few more steps and I finally make it to my destination. The door flies open and slams behind me. Despite the fact that I'm alone, I lock the door before turning and dropping to my knees. I barely lift the seat of the toilet before the first wave of nausea breaks inside me and I spill out the top layer of my stomach. Tears stream down my face as I gasp, bracing for the next heave.

After a minute or so, it seems my body is done. But Im not. I reach over and rinse my fingers before deliberately jamming them inside my throat. Immediately, my throat contracts and I spill another layer of my stomach into the bowl of the toilet. The smell of my own sickness guides my clean hand to flush down the remains. I rinse the other while I listen to the gargle of the water running down the drain.

I decide to try to empty myself one more time, just to be sure I'm free of it all. I repeat the ritual. Rinse. Throat. Heave. Flush. After a few moments, I am finally empty. With my head held over the rim of the toilet, I stare at the clean water circling into the empty space that once held the contents of my stomach. I breath deeply and stand to face the mirror.

I had forgotten the tears in my eyes, but the redness around my eyes surprises me. I rinse my face with cold water and gargle mouthwash until the sick taste of bile leaves my tongue. The redness is still there, but at least the tears are gone.

Now exhausted, I open the door to my vacant apartment and head to my bedroom. The pillows on my bed are soft and cool, relaxing my eyes and my thoughts. Only one permeates my brain, a dull drum in the chaos of my mind. It shouts: "You need help because you cannot do this alone."