that summer, late july, I was nearly catatonic with sadness and the dull bruised ache of being left, not once but twice in so short a time. how could I catch my breath? my solace was sleep, a drugged sleep: clonazepam, desyrel. these were my balm. i would sleep til my legs hurt from sleeping, til my back was sore from lying so still for so long, and i would awaken and hope only for the sun to go down so that I could sleep again. while I was asleep, I could forget (the drugs helped a lot). being awake was really too much. my throat had that dull pain of repressed crying. my skin turned a grey hue, my eyes red, my hands shaking all the time. in time I got better. the setting was beautiful, but the solitude was suffocating.
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