SUMMER

Sunlight. Brutal, brutal sunlight. Beaches and hot air. Lemonade and swimming trunks. Laughter. So much laughter. I imagine this scene as if I am in it. I am not. It is quiet here. There are no beaches. No sunlight. There sure as hell isn’t lemonade. No, I cannot imagine these things here. It is dark here. Pitch black. There is no warmth. Usually, there is no feeling at all. I am suffocating under the weight of these blankets. Boulders placed over my shoulders. The feeling doesn’t bother me like it used to. In fact, I welcome it. I greet my bed as an old friend and shed the outside world as if it were a shirt that no longer fit.

Sometimes the sunlight gets in. It does not stay long, like an old friend you bump into buying groceries. Curious, but too busy. Not enough time.

AUTUMN

            Crisp air, red noses, and wine. Wine every single night. I drink it alone. Every day I give thanks to God for giving me another chance at life. Another chance to make every wrong a right and to stop getting drunk on weeknights. I never do, but the thought of having the chance to comforts me. I am lonely. There is no feeling here. Quiet. Aching quiet. My family tells me I will regret not having children. I might be starting to believe them. Cold air forces me inside, and a longing for relief pulls me closer. I do not find relief.

It begins with the leaves. Their colors are changing. Mine are too.

WINTER

Bed is less inviting these days. I’ve taken to sitting in my car. Sometimes I fall asleep in the backseat and wake up in a cold sweat. I guess your dreams don’t stay in your pillows. The neighbors are worried, I notice their glances. I wake up to a fruit basket one day, a letter from my landlord the next. I never paid rent. The days are going by faster and it feels like I’m stuck on a merry-go-round. In the car I am listening to Christmas music. It doesn’t sound like music anymore. I miss the company Christmas party to sit in my car.

At the end of February, the snow begins to melt. The sunlight is creeping back in. This time it seems to linger.

SPRING

Just as a flower has bloomed outside of my house, a flower has bloomed in my soul. Nourished from sunlight, I sprouted in small amounts of emotion and self-care. The air isn’t as cold anymore. It still sends chills down my spine. I wake up thirty minutes earlier every day. It’s good for self-reflection. My doctor told me it was a Vitamin D deficiency. Truthfully, it was a lack of self-respect. The sunlight is teaching me how to be whole again. I’m still not sure if I’m retaining any knowledge.

I got a tattoo and started taking Prozac. People ask me if I’m cured. I tell them not yet. 

SUMMER (AGAIN)

            Sunlight. Brutal, brutal sunlight. Beaches and hot air. Lemonade and swimming trunks. Laughter. So much laughter. I am not imagining it. I am here, and it engulfs me. They call me nasty and vain. An arrogant woman. A woman who has learned how to love herself. I wear my arrogance like a badge. It is pinned to my sleeve, where my heart used to sit. The strong woman inside tells me not to be vulnerable. But there is so much strength in vulnerability. My vulnerability sits on my shelf at home. My vodka does too. I haven’t touched either one in months.

            I am whole again, but sometimes even the sun grows dim. Besides, I still sleep in my car.