I woke up crying again.
I was quaking, I opened my eyes quickly, feeling the moisture seep from them immediately, pooling on my pillow. Blinking rapidly and rubbing roughly at my face with my palm, I slid out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom, cringing when I hit the switch and my eyes were flooded with brightness. I leaned both hands against the counter, taking a few deep breaths to compose myself.
Everyone mentioned it. How I looked. I focused my eyes on the blurry image in front of me, taking a good look at what everyone talked about. My blue eyes that usually startled me with their brightness seemed dull and gray, lifeless. Spidery veins made an intricate pattern across them, they were rimmed with red. I ran a shaking hand through my unruly dark mop of curls and leaned in for a closer look. My skin seemed blotchy underneath the few days' growth of stubble; I rubbed both my cheeks, hearing the abrasive hiss.
I seemed...thinner. As if something had been eating me away. I lifted my shirt hesitantly and ran my fingertips over the ribs that lay visible, the hollow of my stomach. I slid my boxers down slightly and saw how my hip bones jutted out, casting odd shadows in the artificial light of my bathroom.
Not wanting to look anymore, I hastily pulled my clothes back on and splashed cool water on my face, trying to erase the telltale puffiness. I looked back at my reflection and nothing had changed, I still looked...not myself.
I needed a shower. I stripped and stood under the steady stream for a moment, fiddling with the knobs to get it exactly right. It was a hot shower, and I hoped that it would help to clear my mind. It didn't. All the steam did was sharpen all that I wanted to forget about.
I felt as if I had cancer. It was eating me away, slowly, every day. It made me restless, I could never stop moving, never be comfortable. I had slowly become afraid. Afraid of what wasn't tangible, thoughts. Nighttime was the worst. That was when my thoughts could come out of hiding, consume me. And I let them. I felt blinded at times. I could see that I was blinded. I felt high above everything sometimes, as if I was watching my life from afar.
The shower wasn't helping. I turned off the water and stood there, dripping, not wanting to move. I finally grabbed a towel and roughly dried myself off, putting my clothes back on, wondering what to do next. As I walked downstairs, I looked at my watch. 3:47. In the morning. I needed a walk. I slipped into a pair of sandals by the door and walked outside hesitantly after disarming my heavy alarm system.
It had just rained that evening, and it seemed to mix with the heat of the summer, a humidity that seemed to swallow me up as I walked down the lonely street illuminated by the moon. I wished that it would swallow me up, that I could just be lost, gone. A heavy breeze washed over me, and I stopped for a moment, letting it take away my pain for a moment before turning back.
We were all weary. Of everything. Of our lives. But we had felt that way before, and I knew that the guys would get out of it. I wasn't so sure about myself. Tensions were high. I was crumpling, and it was visible. I felt like I couldn't crawl enough to satisfy anyone. I had never claimed to be better, but I knew I carried around that attitude. They had never said they were better, either. But I could feel it in the way they looked at me, the tones of their voices. They knew.
I knew that I didn't feel right. I was weak. I felt as if I was addicted. That was what they didn't know about. My addiction. It was the proof of my weakness. As I slowly climbed the stairs to my bedroom, I knew where my weakness lay. I should stop, I thought to myself, stop doing this to myself.
I pulled my shirt over my emaciated torso and threw it on the floor before sliding into bed, my thoughts betraying me. A whisper arose from the darkness.
"Where'd you go?" I stopped for a moment, then settled in. I should stop, I thought to myself again, squeezing my eyes shut and feeling the tears again. I answered, concentrating on keeping my voice steady.
"I just had a bad dream...go back to sleep, Joe."
"As long as you're ok."
"I am." And he leaned over and kissed me sleepily, brushing away my tears with his fingertips, before sliding an arm around me and easing back to sleep. Then, like a bolt of lightning, I knew.
I couldn't stop even if I wanted to.