bound.

I lay in bed last night. Masked by the serene darkness and the neon glows on my ceiling, nothing could calm me down. My brain was tired. But somewhere, my heart refused to be lulled.

Isn’t the purpose of having a heart to pump blood to various parts of the body? Why was my heart quavering? How did it command my already tired brain to contemplate my alternatives, the minute probabilities of riding out this storm in a sinking pontoon. Fear gripped me, kept me tossing and turning, for lack of better description.

There was no point in crying; it served no purpose. Neither would I allow myself to be reduced into a watery puddle of failure. This trepidation, this uncertain certainty has me trapped in a corner.

What was the cause of this fear, I tried to analyze. I know what the consequence of failing is. Am I afraid of accepting it as it becomes reality? Is it the fear from having to repeat the entire ordeal? Or perhaps, it’s both.

Mom left me alone that night, figuring I wasn’t in the mood to talk, opting instead to let the furry ones comfort me. Soothing as they were, painkillers can only serve to numb the pain temporarily not remove the tumor.

I don’t know how and I know not when. Fallen into the abyss of darkness, I awoke this morning with that same sinking feeling. Powerless…