My very own bathroom floor moment<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p>
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A moment when you see things for what they really truly are and it shatters your soul. You see it can't break your heart. Not that cant happen since your heart has already stopped beating for the love you claim gives it reason. That hope has turned to rust and I have turned to this. A crying, puking cold mess on the freezing bathroom floor. Tissues strewn all over and bottles of anti-nausea medicine gripped in my hand, the night seems so perfectly set against me. The thin bathmats under me offer little comfort as my throat burns and my eyes water. <o:p></o:p>
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On my knees at the holy alter I lose not only my late lunch and slim dinner, but my beauty. In walks a beast yanking me to my very core. Over and over again ripping at me to give more and only gags of terror spatter the bowl. Trembling and weeping I try to make my escape only to stand at the sink and relinquish all but my very last breath. Never have I been so ill, so weak and completely overwhelmed, so defied by own senses and logic. <o:p></o:p>
I did not want to bother, I did not want to cry out, I did not want anyone to know, and I hate to be seen as anything but strong. And yet I crept towards the only light I thought would glow. And it did not. There was not a single touch or embrace. Not a single stroke or press of worry. No alarm no reset to calm. It was the…the nothing, I feared I would face and I did. <o:p></o:p>
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Crippled by pain, burned by my own internal forces my knees gave and to the stained carpet I crumbled. Crawling to the second bowl of offering my purging pokes at my will to breath and jerked my heart. Not one step, not one sound from the darkroom. There was no light in there. There never was. My fear was not my fear at all. It was my willful blindness and that hurt the most. In retreat my body slipped down the stairs to my original place were once again all that was in me was repealed.<o:p></o:p>
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Strength stolen from the silver and white handles supported my loss as it continued without mercy. Terror washed over me as with each heave fear took the place of food and acid scorched my throat. Not a single drop of water would stay down for with it came more of the trickles that remained. When would it end? I rather die? Deformed and raked my body shivers even now as a bucket rest at my feet. I worry this will not end, nor that it will be easy. What it is I do not know, all I know is that my bathroom floor moment will not be forgotten. I pray I don't puke again tonight.
(the title is a bit off, but if anyone read Eat, Pray Love, they will know exactly what Im talking about))