December, 2009. I don't know what day it is. This is one of the few days I have been conscious since this began. I don't know why I try to eat. Within minutes the few bites I've taken are back up, leaving a searing pain in my throat. My body hurts. Everything hurts. I should walk around, stretch, but I'm too weak to even try. The only way I can even get to the bathroom is by holding on to the pole whose tubes are connected to my chest. I see the doctor pass by my room, his beard growing out - a sign that one of his patients are not going down the good path. I have a strong feeling that patient is me. I know without a doubt that that patient is me. If I had been able to give anything but apathy to the situation I might have cared. But I didn't. Why bother worrying? I had no doubt that I would live. Delirium from drugs or not, I was not scared. My body tells me I have been awake for too long, that I need to go back to sleep. I do not fight. I lay back down and close my iron lids, knowing I will not be able to open them again for a while.
Respond to this prompt if you want and post it in the comments ~~~
~ Zephyr <3