anguish

I woke up in the TV room to the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen and P grunting as he did pushups next to me on the floor. Twisted in the couch like a pretzel with a big, thick purple blanket wedged between my knees for back support, I had slept alone on the first floor again.

Sometimes I sleep downstairs because I want to work on a project. Sometimes I sleep downstairs because P is snoring so loudly, sleeping next to him is no longer an option for me. Sometimes I sleep downstairs, because I am struggling with insomnia. Sometimes I stay downstairs, because my body and mind are moving at warp speed. Pacing back and forth across the first floor is better for relieving stress than laying still in my bed staring at the ceiling in the dark room as I count the minutes going by. Sometimes, I sleep downstairs because my body is in agony, and I can place throw pillows strategically at strange angles against my knotted neck.

But when I woke up today to the smell of coffee and P grunting, I wondered if an hour had passed since I’d finally drifted off to sleep. I could tell by the location of the sun it was time for me to get moving. I cried out attempting shift into an upward position. P doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t ask any questions. He doesn’t engage at all. I imagine he’s concerned on some level. A man has to wonder why his wife doesn’t sleep with him at some point. I can feel his eyes on me as I maneuver off the couch and cross the room.

I do what I can to make myself small. When I feel the sounds of anguish swell up to the top of my throat, I swallow them down-hard. I try to ignore the pain. I try my best to shake it off and walk tall and proud. I try my best to pretend.

But it’s just so exhausting. I just want everyone and everything to disappear for a long enough time so I can get better. I wish I didn’t have to be anything other than me where I’m at…until my body and mind decide to cooperate. Then I can be what everyone wants.