A lil bit more...

I am being punished, she thought. She sunk down to her knees on the kitchen floor and pounded her head on the laminate wood floor. The confusion that swirled around her consumed her. She didn't what was up, what was down. With nothing else to clean, she opened the fridge and scrounged. Apples,nah. Oranges, maybe. Oh nice, cinnamon rolls. And a whole pack of Big Red and water. Bingo. She picked out her favorites. Twelve large, iced sugary cinnamon rolls and one can of Big Red to start this night of binging. She dragged herself to the living room, taking a seat in the nook that connected the sectional couch, feeling abhorrent and disgusted. But the hole felt like it was literally expanding as it's unforgiving teeth of despair chewed away any morsel of dignified resolve or fleeting hope. And as it did so, the emptiness obliterated her usual optimistic demeanor.

She brought the first cinnamon roll to her lips and bit down gingerly, letting the icing ooze and dribble down her chin and fingers. Instantly she felt somewhat satiated, filled. She felt whole and new again. She felt in control. The gnawing dissipated only slightly but at least she was not feeling that full blown emptiness. Her thoughts were still spinning and her hands kept going to her abdomen. Who can endure this? How does someone whose body is supposed to create life bear the knowledge that it in fact kills and destroys life? She had eaten three before she stopped. She looked down at the tray at the rest of the rolls and felt like vomiting. Something is wrong with me, she thought. She set the tray down beside her and jumped out of her perch on the couch. She staggered to the guest bathroom, tears welling in her eyes. She shut the door and stood poised in front of the mirror, starring at her reflection. This is not me, her eyes lingered on her face, taking in the dark blotches. This is what fifty extra pounds does to you. It stretches your features, elongates and ruins your pretty features. The eyes were sunken into flesh. Cheeks puffed. She wanted to break the mirror but moved past it and onto the floor next to the toilet. She flipped up the lead, leaned over, and let the vomit flood out of her mouth. She heard a soft knock on the door.

"Babe, you okay?" the tears streamed more abundantly when she heard his voice. She thought of their happier moments and wished she knew how to fix it. How to fix herself. How to fix all of the things that were going wrong. But she could feel both of them disappearing. What they had been was dying. They needed to do something but she didn't know what.

"I'm fine...I just ate too much," she kept her voice as level as she could.

Finding my voice...Journey to the other side....

She falls into his embrace, feeling his arms encircle her waist. Her body relaxes as all her worries slide out of her mind and far away. In this world, there is no one that can torture her. No one that can hurt her. No thought that could trap her and drive her to the hell that has been building around her. She lets her face linger in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent and drifting in the high she got from being around him. He towered over her but then again, everyone did her being small in stature and tiny as a teacup. He brought his hand to her chin and lifted her face towards his face. She pulls back and steps out of his grasp, crashing back into reality. He was there but was not there. She felt him all around yet nowhere near. The world was spinning again. She began to walk to the other side of the room but his hand caught hers and pulled her back to him. His eyes plead for her to stay; her body desires to stay, but her mind was already disengaged. His grip tightens and she could feel the intensity of his pleading through his fingers that were laced with hers. His fingers and hands so much larger almost overpowering hers; yet, she controlled his state of mind.

He wanted her here with him. He needed her here with him or he would face a world where he didn't feel accomplished, appreciated, and adored. He pulled against her resistance and his thoughts raced to a time when he didn't have to fight so hard for her attention, for her warmth. She was cold. Stony. And just gone. And he didn't feel he could take it anymore. He remembered a time where she admired him, almost worshiped him. Where nothing but positive words escaped her lips. Those lips now cracked, closed, yet criticizing. He looked into her eyes and he could almost feel the madness that shook her soul. There was something inside her that he didn't know how to fix, and he loathed it. Where was she? Who was this woman standing before him, scowling at him. He couldn't do enough. Be enough. Say enough. Show enough. He felt his chest tightening and his Spirit sinking. How did it come to this? He held her for a while longer and then let go. Defeated as he watched her turn her back to him and walk to the other side of the room, busying herself with laundry or some mundane, idiotic task. He plopped on the foot of the bed, propped his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head in his hands, running one hand through his hair, allowing a long, lonesome sigh escape his lungs. He felt a burning in his chest and felt the anger rise. He pushed it down. He pushed down his frustrations. He buried his anguish and proceeded to take of his shoes and socks. He left them on the floor and escaped to the bathroom with a magazine. His shoulders slumped as he walked passed her and shut the bathroom door.

She picked up his socks, not wanting to touch them, feeling disgusted by their presence. She stomped to the laundry room with the nasty articles and threw them in the dirty laundry basket. She spun around and continued to the kitchen where the dirty dishes beckoned and teased. She felt her emotions rise and tried to control her breathing. She took a big gulp of air and released it slowly through her nostrils. Something is wrong with me, she thought. Her hand flew to her head as she looked down at her stomach. The hand rubbing her temples slowly made its way down to her abdomen, her eyes starring. And the emptiness hit her like a bullet. The hole she felt grew larger and larger. She gripped her abdomen with both hands, closed her eyes and let Hell ravage her thoughts. To ignore the mental gnawing, she picked up the sponge and started scrubbing the dishes viciously, violently. She turned the hot water on as she rinsed and barely noticed the scalding, burning hot water. Her hands turned red, looking almost raw; but she kept going. She felt the tears but they never came. Instead she washed the dishes, finished the laundry, and scrubbed the fridge and stove. He was still in the bathroom. She knew this and she felt oblivious to it. She felt nothing else but the oblivion in the abdomen. I am being punished, she thought. She sunk down to her knees on the kitchen floor and pounded her head on the laminate wood floor. The confusion that swirled around her consumed her. She didn't what was up, what was down. With nothing else to clean, she opened the fridge and scrounged. Apples,nah. Oranges, maybe. Oh nice, cinnamon rolls. And a whole pack of Big Red and water. Bingo. She picked out her favorites.

Music

Tonight I want to write about my love affair with music. I am an amateur pianist...I mean, super amateur. I probably shouldn't even call myself a pianist. But I know a few songs and can play by sight fairly well, so I'm just going to allow myself the liberty of labeling myself a pianist....just cuz, ya know. In any event, I LOVE music. I will listen to almost anything, everything by anyone from anywhere. I could spend hours or days, if my schedule allowed, in a music store sifting through albums upon albums from one artist to the next, losing myself. Music moves me. Music speaks to me. Music soothes, calms, excites, inspires, and motivates me in ways nothing and no one else can. I don't just listen to music to dance; rather, music helps me detox my soul from the muck and grime of thinking, stressing, and worrying all day. Music frees my mind, allowing me to sore, float, rocket above the earth, flying away from the cares and wears of life. I love it all. I love discovering new music, new artists. I'm not prejudiced when it comes to music. If it speaks to me, if it touches me, if it ignites a spark, I'm all for it.

Mostly, these days I've been falling so deeply in love with the instrumentals. Guitar sounds. Piano sounds. Violin. Cello. Drums. Bass guitar. All of it together. Or solo. Beautiful ballads of our times and older times. I download loads and loads of new songs on my iPod and just jam. I'm just getting into Bob Marley. Pink Floyd. Escala. Adele. Shine. I still love the classics. Pachabel. Schubert. Mozart. Gershwin. I'm discovering my rock and roll side. Breaking Benjamin and Three Days Grace are bands I'm finding myself listening to even though a few years ago, I wouldn't have gave them a second listen. I still love Yanni. Nothing will change that. No amount of persecution will sway me. He is still inspirational to me. Even when music isn't playing, I have parts or measures of a song running through my mind.

So for fun, I think I'm going to start collecting songs and make a soundtrack to my life. Eh, bored and should be sleeping but I can't. So here I am rambling again. My point tonight is that I really, truly, positively LOOOOOOOOVVVVEEEE music. Music is breathe to me. Will never live without it in my life.