It’s me versus the glorious morning to come. The complexion of the firmament beyond my storm window, inside window, screen and drawn blind is clearly changing, I can see a faint, blue glow around the edges and against the wall. This while the birds are starting to, ever so gently, peep and chirp. Who could complain about these first few minutes of the day? Sunrise is at 6:49am and it’s currently 6:44am.
As 6:46 slips onto the clock, I’m up on one elbow, patting and stroking our dog, Annie. A smear of white and yellow to the blue now. The day is beginning and nothing will stop it. Sweat rolls down my forehead to my cheek. Are those tears mixed in? I believe so. No smell of coffee and cigarette smoke. Oh, yes, my father is dead, that’s why. It’s my turn to make the coffee, forevermore. To feed the stray cat, Blackie. To give Annie some wet food that Panther will move in on before Annie has a chance. And the birds outside getting louder, so many of them in that little maple tree…cheek, cheek, cheek.
My face is wiped dry with my sleeve, and I’m starting to get angry. There was sleep, I felt it. Why should I awaken to this? Where is the morning grogginess? The slight stumble as I get my bearings? None of that here, just a jolt and awake and in the jaws of it all. Chronic depression and anxiety. How nice that it has a name. Eyes closed, but I can still see through my lids that the room is getting lighter. The day is here. The day is here. The day is here! The birds outside are oddly silent.
There must be a pill I can take. I’ll look. A pill. A pill that will extinguish this fire in my belly, this ache in my chest, the machinations in my mind that make it all happen. More sleep, a pill, after I feed the pets and make the coffee that nobody will drink, but the ceremony, established by my late father, must continue. The pill is downstairs. I’ll go get it.