everything i understood left me when i took out my IV and discharged myself.
what remains is a blank space where all the things i can do, wanted to do, have disappeared.
when i came home, the phone was ringing off the hook. the screen was filled with one, two, three four text messages.
a stranger asks how i am feeling and i can talk to them. i spit scientific facts, details, banalities.
i know what to say to them. i am just a name on a chart.
but to the ones i love, i send out the mass text messages and forget to return calls.
i hibernate, because i don't want to explain why instead of feeling better, i feel worse.
i am grateful for this flood of support, for all the ears straining to hear my complaints, for all those whose arms are outstretched, just waiting to help.
but i don't want to be like this anymore.
i would like to walk ten miles and only complain about two.
i want to understand more than just the prick of the needle, the instantaneous pain.
i want to know what happens after.
i took out my IV myself, so why can't i do more?
all i know is this: i want to go home.
with that hand on my back, with the curtains drawn.
no expectation. no explanation.
no need to do anything at all except sleep,