Static

The pile of laundry in the corner stared at me, demanding to be washed. It had been weeks. I didn’t know I even had that many clothes. I should really cut down on my closet.

Bzzt. Another thing added to the list that kept bouncing around in my head. Go through the clothes. Wash the clothes. Clean your room. Take a shower. Go for a walk. Do the dishes. Eat. Fucking get up! Do something!
Bzzt. A thousand electrons bouncing around the atomic nucleus of my consciousness at supersonic speed coalescing into endless static.

My pills are right there in the bathroom cabinet. I can see them, the door hanging open, from my position on the couch. It takes ten steps to get there. Only ten steps. How was that so hard? They’d make me feel better. I knew they would. They’d worked for months. After taking forever to find the right one, the right dosage, the right rhythm to take them in, we’d finally nailed it. It was perfect. Why did I stop taking them?

Bzzt.

I look down at my phone. A new text from my therapist. Call me please! I’m worried about you. Just one of countless others. Why didn’t I answer? I should answer.

I cradle the phone in my hand, my thumbs hovering, uncertain. How do I answer?

Do I tell them I’m okay? I’ve never lied to them before.

Do I tell them I’m not okay? Will they call the hospital if I do? I don’t want to go to the hospital.

Do I ignore them?

Will they keep texting?

Will they call?

Will they come over?

Will they give up on me?

Do I call and apologize?

I try working my mouth and throat. Out comes a weird crackling, gurgling sound. At least, I think it did. I’m not sure. But if I’m not sure I can even speak, how could I call them? When was the last time I spoke? Better not.

Uncertain, I scroll up through the others. I switch to the conversation with my sister. There’s some pictures she sent me, taken last month when we went on vacation. I’m smiling. I’m clean. My hair is shiny and healthy, instead of lying limp and greasy over my shoulders. I’ve got my favorite pizza in my hand. I glance out of the corner of my eye at the empty potato chip bag and tub of ice cream sitting next to me. I can’t remember how long those have been there. Possibly forever. Maybe I wasn’t the one that put them there. But they are my favorite flavors. And the ice cream tub was starting to smell. Odd that I hadn’t noticed it.

I try tucking my feet under the couch. They’re cold. But they don’t bend that way. Why don’t they bend that way? They should. I’m cold. I should be wearing some socks. And pants. But they’re dirty. So is this t-shirt. How long have I been wearing it? Three days? I don’t remember. I’m cold. I should do laundry.

My phone lay in my hand, forgotten in favor of my feet. Then just plain forgotten. At least until my sister’s face pops up. She’s calling. I should answer. I look at the screen. It keeps ringing. I should answer. It keeps ringing.

My sister’s face disappeared. Why didn’t I answer? I was literally holding the phone. My thumb was right there.

Maybe I didn’t want to answer. Maybe I didn’t need to. Maybe I could just sit here until I feel better. I was alone. It was quiet, except for the buzzing in my head.

Outside I hear birds, cars, people laughing at the cafe tables across the courtyard. But it was quiet.

There’s a clicking sound outside on the walkway. The neighbor. She always wears heels. They make a satisfying noise on the wood.

I see a shadow pass by my window. I don’t know who it is. I haven’t opened the curtains in… days? Weeks?

The shadow passes and the clicking noise stops outside my door. There’s a moment, then the high-pitched clink of keys. Only two other people have a key to my apartment.

The lock jiggles a moment. I hope it’s not my landlord. I’ve never missed a rent payment. I have the money for the next payment ready to go, but rent’s not due for another week. I think.

The handle turns and the door opens. I wince as sunlight shines in my face around the silhouette standing in the doorway.

“Oh dear.”

My sister’s soft voice makes me open my eyes. She shuts the door and walks over to me. I don’t know how she can. I haven’t showered, or even put on deodorant, in days.

She hugs me anyway.

“Come on,” she says, putting her purse down. She lifts me under my arms off the couch and pulls me towards the bathroom.

“Thank you.” I guess I can speak.