beaten

stage 1: numb

I’ve been laying here for nine weeks, staring up at the ceiling. It’s kind of strange because I haven’t been eating, and I don’t feel hungry. My brain feels like mush, and I get to thinking that I’m not real again. This feels so strange, but it’s so familiar.

I close my eyes, and I breath out through my mouth. I sit up and look at my phone, trying to remember the last time I talked to someone. I can’t even remember the last time I spoke. I cup my hand over the lower left side of my chest, but it feels empty. I don’t wait long enough to hear it beating. I look around my small apartment, and it feels unoccupied.

stage 2: anger

Why isn’t anyone messaging me? I grab my phone, my eyes and fingers searching hastily through the different applications. I feel like I’m tweaking. I can barely breath, and a sharp pain in the middle of my chest halts my progress for an instant. Breathe out. My thumb continues its good work.

Wait—what is that? I scrutinize a post from a girl that I barely know. All the friends I thought I made in this town are together, having fun, playing games. This was a few hours ago. My grip on the phone tightens briefly, and my thoughts move to self-loathing and confusion. WHY does this keep happening?! Don’t these idiots get it? I need people, too, and they’re all I have here. WHY WHY WHY. I want to scream and throw my phone. I want to reach into my chest, find my heart, and claw it out.

stage 3: reassurance

In the back of my mind, I realize that I’m probably overreacting. They didn’t think to invite me, sure. But they barely know me, even though I’ve been here for 7 months. How long does it take to matter enough to people? Breathe out. No, it’s okay. They probably just forgot, and then it was too late. Sure, they probably know I’ve got nothing else going on but to sit at home and stare at the ceiling . . . but they probably didn’t think I’d want to go. To a game night. To spend real time with people for the first time in nine weeks. To laugh and be seen. Yeah, it doesn’t matter. I’m letting my insecurities get in the way of my judgment. Again. I’m just overreacting.

stage 4: cling

Despite my best efforts, I peer at my phone screen again. Unlocking it deftly, I send a quick message to three people. There. You can’t say I didn’t try. I wait four seconds and unlock the screen again. The messages were all delivered but none read. Okay, fine. I find three more people whom I somewhat like, and I send out more messages. I drop the phone to my side and wait.

Four more seconds. My angst and insecurities rise to the surface and overflow. On my phone again, I scroll through my contacts. I find my friend who I’ve known for nine years. My one friendship that has endured. I press call and wait. The line rings but no one picks up.

stage 5: death

I stand up slowly. The world feels different—muted and unmoving. Undisturbed. I breathe out and I can’t help but wonder where the air is coming from. I take a step forward and I can’t feel the threadbare carpet beneath my dry feet.

I feel abandoned to myself.

I place my hand over my heart again. Covered in the dull light from the window, I stand and wait for the beating. I can’t see the sky between the blinds. Caught suddenly by fear, I thump my fist against my chest and wait again.