My Place

A place for creativity.aaaaaaaaaaaaA place for self-expression.

A place for brutally honest writing.

16 February 2010


I wake, shaking, from my nightmare. I dare myself to believe it's not true.  I try to dial Eric's number but I have to wait until my hands are no longer fish out of water--clammy, slippery, flopping without control.  Finally, my fingers work and the number shines through the darkness.  Eric's roommate, Sam picks up.  "Eric," I say, and wait for Sam to crawl from his bed, mumbling as he goes into Eric's room to hand him the phone.  There's no movement on the other end of the line and after what feels like an eternity, Sam says, "Honest."  His voice resonates with all the pain of the world and I scream at him, begging him to stop my continuing nightmare.  "Honest, we've all been living in a nightmare," he responds.  "I can't bring Eric back.   I can't undo what he did.  I can, however, get you help.  You should come to my support group with me.  Staying in bed... It's not healthy."  "No," I respond, "I don't need a support group, I need Eric." I hang up and dry-swallow four ambiens--the only thing that will keep me out of this nightmare, even if only for a few hours. 

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