there’s nothing that 100 men or more could ever do

My head is pounding, everything seems so amplified. I tell myself on the way to the pharmacy this is going to be different, I am in pain- tomorrow I will be able to think better. When I see the glow of the store's sign lighting up the night, I can feel I am already lying to myself, like whispers of some quiet conversation in my own head. The pain is so loud is drowns out who I really am, who I want to be again. I know walking into that store, that sign will make me feel better before it makes me feel worse all over.

In line I try and speak to the woman in front of me, I want to answer her question but before I tried to remember what she even asked me- the man behind us loudly spoke, "you're next" and nodded her forward with his head. I'm never going to get away from this whole process. I'm always going to live in pain and there's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do to make it stop, I'm done cycling through them anyway if there even was anyone left to understand this.

I feel thankful for the thing I hate. I walk away from the store swallowing two pills so I can go home and clean and work, and as I think of all the things I need to catch up on... I see normal people and hear them being happy as they come and go through the parking lot as I get in my truck. I sit there watching strangers for a moment and as much as I want the pain to stop I want that side effect, too... numb. Knowing it will be even 20 more minutes of this agony, I allow the wild dogs in my head to cry out in the night- screaming in my vehicle as the world moves around outside of my restless, longing for some solitary company.

This is where I used to want to do anything to make a cross fade, but I am different now and I know that I must do what's right and go home while the window of numb is open.

I turn off the world with my earbuds, the music goes up and the noise canceling pushes the voice in my ear above the one in my head.

Walking in the house is like being on a mission. Being productive cures the hurt

deep inside of this 'thing' that I've become that feels so different from 'alive'. I'm never going to get used to life like this- it's gonna take death to make me get over this hurting. No one can do this but me, and that is just how it is now.

A few hours go by and even with less now to do, I know I am 'allowed' to go numb again. Since the physical pain is still at a level where I can think, I need to take time and be still without more of those pills that steal me in one way as they allow me to exist in another. This is where I have to be careful not to keep pushing myself, and take at least some time to open the door to think about you, quickly and not for too long. You are always right there, behind my eyes... like waiting ... even when you were here, I loved to be still and think about you when we were apart.

The physical pain makes it easier to excuse being so isolated, even more this late at night. This is when I have to chose sleep over those pills. This is when I know I have to accept sleep instead of time in my head with you. This is when I am closest to God, you, and my real self- when I chose to be still over numb, even in pain. Dying of thirst to feel normal-with a bottle of water right there on my desk- but accepting to wait to be thankful for the thing I hate even less tomorrow. On my way to sleep I know I have 29 days to figure out how I will feel in that parking lot again.