Snot running down your face and eyes teeming with tears, is never a good look on anyone. Making that shit look classy only happens in movies. The only positive outcome about it being three in the morning, is that there’s no-one around to see how broken I am right now.
It isn’t even the pain that’s keeping me up…well, not this time. The fault lies solely with two bloody annoying conditions, hypersalivation, the production of too much saliva and dysphagia, which is difficulty in swallowing.
Both conditions usually occur separate to one another, but for the last couple of days, they have been happening simultaneously.
First my mouth will become dry with a feeling that my throat is closing up. This brings on a mild panic attack (I say mild because I know it really isn’t) and each swallow feels as though it’s stuck mid gulp, which brings on yet another panic attack because it then seems as though I can’t breathe. Then the hypersalivation comes into play and I feel as though I’m drowning in my own saliva. Of course, this doesn’t go down too well, quite literally, as I’m having difficulty swallowing in the first place.
And I’m tired. So bloody tired.
Every time I look at the clock and see the minutes passing by, I cry.
It’s now 4 am and I have to be up at 6 am to make the womb-fruit’s breakfast and iron his school uniform, because despite my Aspie child also being my carer, I will not let my incapabilities be responsible for him receiving third degree burns, or burning down the house.
The worst part, is that I’m utterly alone.
Gone are the days of being able to pick up the phone in the early hours of the morning and weep about what is ailing me, because like those days, my friends are long gone.
It’s always in those twilight hours that I realise just how much I’ve lost. That at the end of it all, I only have myself to rely on, and that no-one is going to come to my rescue.
There is no-one there to hold my hand or offer up a gentle hug. There is no-one who will be there to tell me that everything is going to be alright. There is no-one to just sit and hold me when I cry and there is no-one to pick me up and piece me together when I fall and break.
It’s at times likes these that I feel like a ghost walking through life. A dead among the undead. No-one sees me, no-one hears me, yet I am here and I exist…just.
I try so hard to take life as it comes. To make the best of what I have and to be grateful for the small things. But sometimes, just sometimes, it all becomes too much and I hate that I exist. Fortunately, those moments are fleeting. A whisper of a bad thought.
4:24 am. Time to attempt sleep once again.