The sun blared insistently through the slats of my blinds, falling onto my pillow and comforter.
As soon as I was reasonably conscious, it hurt. I was to live another day, another day that I didn't want.
Friends had called and sent all kinds of messages for days; I found myself unable to care.
After fourteen hours, I could no longer go back to sleep, so I got up. Skipping over the door to the bathroom, I continued on to the living room and slumped into the pillows.
Suddenly, emotional pain spiked into my existence. Though it was unexpected, familiarity forced me to accept the staggering stabs that struck my chest and radiated outward. I waited for warm, soothing tears, but I hadn't any left to shed. And so I sat, feeling raw and fragmented.
The phone rang, but I felt frozen. The urgent voicemail echoed throughout the house that was void of the living.
"Sarah. Don't worry, okay? Just call so everyone knows you're okay. I'll talk to you later – bye."
I continued to stare at the wall. Eventually, someone would come. I wouldn't admit it, but I needed someone. My speculations held that it would be too little, too late.
Some of them tried, but none understood. Someone out there did, I knew, but they were just that – there, and not here.
I sat there for a long time – not eating, not dressing, nor bathing, nor anything but breathing and struggling to keep in one piece. I feel over many times and wept for relief of any sort. I wanted to fade out, like a dying diode, a star fading from the suffocating dark of the night sky.
It was darkening even now, navy staining the world I could see. It introduced a powerful emptiness.
The phone rang again, and again I let it go to voicemail. The caller left a message.
"Sarah…" there was a long pause. "I believe you."
I raised my head in answer.
Since then, the road has been long and at times arduous. But with time, the pain, the sorrow left me – faded like a forgotten star.