Pitcher's Baby Read Free Page B

the
dream world, but after being woken earlier, my body just won’t allow it. At
least Everly is sleeping soundly in her new basinet. Everything in my life has
been flipped and turned upside down so suddenly that at times, I can’t figure
out which way is up and which way is down. My mind stays actively buzzing,
eating away at me every minute of every day, reminding me of every single
misgiving and tricking me into believing I am less than I am.
    My monster doesn't sleep under my bed. She
sleeps inside my head, lurking in the far recesses, just waiting for the chance
to pounce. She doesn't need to be provoked or invited. One minute I can be
smiling, almost enjoying life, and the next, I’m falling on my knees, alone and
afraid but unable to reach out for help.
    How can I, when I can't find the words to
explain what's happening in my own mind? The way my throat tightens,
constricting the air I need to exhale, trapping it in my lungs, another
unwilling passenger to the torture I am forced to endure. Pain embraces me,
like the loving mother I never had, on my way through the kaleidoscope of
emotions flowing through me.
    Fear.
    Regret.
    Loneliness.
    Shame.
     
    I accept them all. I have no choice. I am
. . . broken . This single word describes who I am better than any other
in the Webster’s dictionary.
    I hate myself.
    Flipping on the bedside light, I sigh with
relief as the darkness is pushed away, however briefly. My alarm clock reads
5:42. I have been lying here awake for at least two hours, trying to crawl back
out of the hell my mind creates while I sleep. Most people dream. A lot of
those people even have nightmares. The difference between them and me is that
when I wake up, my nightmare doesn't disappear. It clings to me and follows me
throughout my day, whispering sweet nothings in my ear like a sweet lover.
    My nightmare has a name.
    I call it life.
    I should have taken my damn sleeping pills
last night , I think silently, but I hate the way they make me
feel during the day . Slow. Lethargic. I should have known better, but at
least if I am bone tired today, I know it's from lack of sleep and not some
pharmaceutical bullshit running rampant through my system.
    Technically, I don't need to get up from
the comfy confines of my bed yet, but falling back asleep right now is
impossible, so I grab my journal from under my mattress and peel back the
abused, creased cover in search of the next available blank page. I find one at
the back. It's almost time for me to replace the pages in it again. Thank God I
still have a case of the paper that goes between the leather covers. Unsnapping
the pen from the tie around the top, I allow myself ten minutes of my own
personal therapy. Writing down the words flowing through me is the only time I
feel somewhat normal. I pour myself out into the page before me.
     
    Once there was love,
    Now there is pain
    In the house of misery
    Losers stand to gain.
    The pain has now gone away,
    Numbed by Life. Dead to me.
    There's a new flame
    Burning in my soul.
    Not like her; she must stay.
    God! I'm losing total control.
    I lost one love,
    But I gained two:
    The power of the heart
    And the never ending start.
                            -CC
     
    When I finish, I read back over it and
wonder where these words come from, how they manage to just erupt from within
the tiny confines of my blackened soul when I put pen to paper. I close the
pages, letting the rough leather cover and my three-year-old hair tie hide the
words from me, keeping me from having to dwell on them anymore. I lock them up,
just like I lock myself away from anything else in this world that might make
me hurt . . . even just a little bit.
    Throwing back the covers, I climb from my
personal heaven when all I really want to do is throw a pillow over my head and
shut out the world for one more day, to just close my eyes and forget the
promise I made to myself last night, but I can’t. Shit, it's only been