Random garbage

The tears flowed in torrents as I did my best to pick up the house. I began to gather the shards of glass that had broken on the floor several days before, finding it painfully ironic that I was trying to pick up something shattered. Truthfully, my condition was such that just about anything could and would trigger an intense emotional response entirely against my better judgment. There would be no more music. No more laughter. Only silence. Silence and tears and the roar of the vacuum cleaner to swallow the filth and the fury.

I stopped myself every once and a while, checking to see if I'd missed a call. Nothing. Why would there be? After all, it'd been days, hadn't it? Logically, I knew far well that the end was no more on nigh. It had already passed and left me locked in lover's limbo. I found myself transfixed in Purgatory, catatonic, trapped. My better judgment pushed for me to accept this tragic state of affairs, but my heart, oh, my heart.

I wiped my eyes, now bleary and bloodshot from sobbing to such a horrific extent. I pushed the vacuum against the wall and sank to the carpet, mollycoddling myself in a sorry embrace to acheive some sense of comfort. Weakness. I'd fought it with every fiber in my being, yet upon reaching this level of consummate suffering, I had no choice but to succumb, licking the reopened gashes as though a wounded animal. I hated myself for being so foolish, for behaving in such an infantile and petulant manner; but the agony overwhelmed me. What more could I do?

Several moments later, I turned my gaze to the bookshelf, noticing a small bottle of pills sitting on its ledge. Curiously, I rolled out of my self-embrace and rose to my knees, taking a better gander. I lifted the small bottle and read the label, cautiously popping the lid from the top to peer inside. I counted seven round pills inside of it, then simply stared at them, reviewing my options. Christ, it seemed so easy. The stuff was deadly enough on its own, and taking it sevenfold would sure enough send me somewhere: Heaven, Hell, but out of this Purgatory, for certain. Upon further debate, my hands began to shake, and I dropped the bottle to the floor, spilling its contents. Oh, God.

There they were again. The torrents. I dropped my hands to the floor, now supporting myself with all four appendages. My body convulsed, compulsively, as I made more of a mess out of myself. I screamed and wailed, assuredly disturbing the neighbors. At this point, however, I'm certain they'd grown accustomed to my wailing through the walls. I'd more or less spent the past few months sniveling to myself on a daily basis. Weak. Oh, how loath it made me to think of it.

I prayed for sunshine in the darkness. There was none. I raised my weary eyes to the smudged window and saw only the flickering orange lamp light of the unknown.

"Get up," I whispered, urging my body to react in perfect tandem with my mind. Begrudgingly, I yanked myself from the floor and stood. No, I wasn't whole again, nor did I expect to be. If nothing more, it was a step in the correct direction, a step up, a step that forced me to realize that, even when everything inside of me screamed in defeat, I still possessed the capacity to gather the shattered glass, to pick up the pieces, and, in time, stand on my own two feet.

I closed the blinds and backed against the wall, closing my eyes and monitoring my breathing. I could feel the beat of my heart within my chest, and placed my left hand over it, for comfort and warmth. Perhaps things would never be the same, but at least I knew how deeply I loved someone, and how deeply that love was respected and reciprocated. I found it in myself.