The Fridge Door

I open the fridge door. I look inside. I see the cheese. I just want to take the whole brick and eat it. I want to eat the left over chicken. The pasta. The chips in the cupboard. The chocolates on the counter, and the rest that are hidden. I want to drink till I fall asleep.

I stand at the fridge door, looking inside. And know that none of them will really satisfy me. No matter if I eat it all. Progress I suppose.

But I don’t want to feel this. Anything but this. Just keep breathing. One breath at a time. It’s just feelings, emotions. They will pass. They will get stronger, ease up, and eventually i will push them to a place where I can take the next breath. And then the next.

And maybe one day I will get to have several breaths in a row with out it being a chore.

I feel like I’m drowning, and all I want is to just get out of the water and walk. Fuck swimming..I’ll just take a boat. Just give me the boat. Where is the fucking boat?

I just want to breath.

I don’t want to eat. But I do want to. But not because I’m hungry. Because I hope that it will make this pain go away. I know it won’t, so what’s the point. It doesn’t work like it used to. Again, progress I suppose. Something to be happy about? But it’s not enough.

So here I am writing, hoping it will ease some of the pain and let me take a couple breaths so my head doesn’t explode.

One breath at a time. Standing in front of the fridge door.