Tuesday night.

I jolt up, every inch of my body covered in a cold sweat. The sandman must be clinging to me, forcing me to repeat the same nightmare over and over. I tremble, wrapped in my blanket. It’s smothering me, caging me in. I peel the damp comforter off of me for the third time that night and fling it to the ground. I attempt a deep, shaky breath. It doesn’t help, because nothing ever helps. I’m afraid nothing ever will. I feel something bubbling up inside of me, but at first, I can’t tell what. I listen closely.

“It’s not my fault,” I whisper, there it is, that’s it.

“It’s not my fault,” I repeat a little louder than the last time.

“It’s not my fault!” I don’t know why I’m yelling.

“It’s not my fault! It’s not my fault!” Why can’t I stop?

“It’s not my fault!” I hear footsteps rushing down the stairs.

“It’s not my fault!” When did I start crying?

“It’s not my fault!” Light from the hallway is flooding into my room.

“It’s not my fault!” Someone’s arms are wrapped tightly around me.

“It’s not my fault,” I whimper between sobs.

            Wednesday morning.

“Hey, Alex! Ready for the calc test today?”

I am not.

“Yeah sure,” I answer, staring at the floor.

“Hey are you Ok? You seem off today.”

No, I am not Ok.

“Yeah I’m fine, just stayed up late studying,” why am I lying?

Wednesday Afternoon: School.

            I trudge to my seat in the front of the classroom. I used to love sitting in the front. I place my sole pencil on my otherwise empty desk. What class is this again? I glance at the cheesy math posters lining the walls. Oh right, calc. Out of the corner of my eye I can see some of the younger kids playing joyfully outside. They’re just through the window. I look down, when did that thick paper packet get there? Ah yes, there’s a test today. I stare blankly at the first question. The words blur in and out of focus. Why can’t I read? I desperately grasp for my pencil. I don’t feel anything. The pencil isn’t there. Where did it go? I frantically search under and around my desk. It’s not there. There are tears in my eyes. Did somebody take it? I stand up.

“HAS ANYONE SEEN MY PENCIL?”

Startled laughter, confused faces, blank stares, but mostly laughter. The teacher promptly steps over to where I’m seated and picks up my test, there it is. My pencil. It was hiding underneath the whole time. The sliver of sanity I had left is gone. I run out of the room, leaving the laughter, the test, my pencil.

            Wednesday Afternoon: Home.

            I amble through the door of our quiet house, and after only a few steps, I collapse onto the cold kitchen floor. Curled up in a tight ball of stress, I rock myself back and forth, it takes everything I am not to scream. If I tried, would anything even come out? I didn’t hear momma come in, but she must’ve as I now feel the press of her strong embrace. My fists unclench, and my teeth stop grinding. Momma always does her best. It helps, but there’s something missing.

            “Breathe honey.”

             There it is, that’s it. I guess I missed mom’s entrance too. I need them both, their constant unending support is the only momentum I have to keep going.

            “Breathe Alex, in and out. Just breathe.”

Her soothing voice and gentle but supportive hand on my back, reminds me that I’ve been holding my breath for longer than I should be able to. The breath rushes out of my mouth in a waterfall of air. In… 2… 3… 4… out… 2… 3… 4…. Repeat. I’m getting better at that. Maybe I’m getting better.

Wednesday Evening.

Maybe tonight will be different.