By Kelley Gonzalez
I saw her today, the girl I was. Before everything. Before the depression, the bipolar, the panic and the anxiety.
She jumped out of bed as I struggled to open my eyes wondering how I was going to face another day. I tried to get out of bed, the pain of my Fibromyalgia holding me back. She is ready to go, take on the day, do everything. I’m not, I want to go back to bed, back to blackness of sleep, the comfort of the darkness.
She ran out to fix her family a hot breakfast. Curious I followed her, it had been so long since I had seen someone do it. She made rainbow waffles, eggs, bacon and hash browns. I was amazed, my hands hurt at the sight of her cooking and jealous at the way she moved them. She woke up her family in a loving manner, not in the hurry up manner I’m so used to waking them up in.
After breakfast she actually washed and put away the dishes, I watched her, angry that she had so much energy so early in the morning. She even had a full day of activities planned for her family and took them out with no need of medication or a cane or a wheelchair. I got in the car to follow them, watching as they laughed and made memories that didn’t include a panic attack or a trip to the emergency room.
I watched jealous of the way she could be in large crowds of people without thinking something horrible was about to happen to them. I kept an eye on the crowds waiting for something to happen, trying to tell her to pay attention but she was too busy paying attention to the family. She could move through the people unafraid of them touching her, for they might cause her pain.
When they got home, I was completely exhausted, just wanting to flop into bed and forgot the whole day, but not her. The girl who somehow used to be me made them dinner and it didn’t come out of a box or a bag. She was engaging and funny and again did the dishes. That night, unlike me, she was able to stay awake and spend quality time with her husband. I dragged myself back to the bedroom, unable to watch anymore. I didn’t want to see anymore of her. Hopefully when I wake up tomorrow she isn’t there. I hope she isn’t there. Please be there.