It rains here.
Almost all the time.
I don't mind it, though. The white noise fills up my ears.
Somedays I feel full enough that I can breathe. I can feel alive. I can imagine that there's fire again, where my heart would be. Just a spark, something living, a light. Something alive. I can imagine that I'm healing, that one day, someday, this will all be a vague memory.
Somedays I feel like I'm overflowing, too. There's too much, my skin is buzzing. Everything is covered in hands, in needles. It's a world of water and I'm drowning. I'm made of air, I'm made of glass, I'm made of nothing. I'm just me, and my mind is overfilled. On those days, I lay in bed and let the hours pass.
Today, though.
I'm empty. A bone-dry glass but I wish I was full. I wish I would overflow. My hair drips wet on my shoulders, soaking into my shirt and streaming down my back and neck. The water pools in my shoes.
I'm standing in the rain in my backyard. I came outside because I thought the rain would fill me. But I'm empty today. I wish I didn't exist.
My throat feels tight. I try to count the days since I've used my voice, but I can't. It feels like years, and even though I want to see if I can still speak, I don't have the energy to try. My lips stay shut.
I turn and slide the door open, going back inside. I shut the door behind me and stand in the kitchen, listening to the drip, drip, drip, of the water on the tiles.
My stomach growls, and I rest a hand on it. My arms feel like lead. I try to remember the last time I ate. Two, three days ago? I'm exhausted but I don't want to sleep, I feel like I just woke up. I wander over to the fridge and reach in. I remember where I put everything, and I can find it pretty quickly.
Cheese, meat, mustard. I close the fridge and grab a loaf of bread from on top of the fridge. I don't have the energy to make a sandwich, but I have things to make sandwiches. I take the things to the kitchen table and sit, setting them down.
I take a slice of bread, put a slice of cheese and some meat on it, and squirt mustard over the top. I sigh and take a bite. It doesn't taste like anything. I try to remember that I need to eat to live and to avoid the pain of hunger, but it doesn't help me swallow.
I finish the one open-faced sandwich and lay my head on my arms on the table. I have to put everything away, now, since I don't feel like eating anymore. I'll be sick if I do.
The phone rings. I let it ring. Eventually, it stops.
After a few minutes, it starts ringing again. I don't want to talk, go away. It stops for a minute or two.
Someone calls again. I let it ring itself out. The fourth time, I get up and go over, sitting on the ground beside the table, and picking up, putting the phone to my ear.
"Aedin." The unmistakable voice of my therapist. "Thanks for picking up."
I don't say anything. His name is Paul. I was required to hire him eight years ago when I was deemed a danger to myself. At first, it was a weekly in-person check-in. And then bi-monthly. And then bi-monthly check-ins over the phone. I figure if I die, at least they'll know before I'm rotten.
"It's okay if you don't feel like talking," he says. He always says that. I don't think he knows that it doesn't mean anything. "I just wanted to make sure you were still there."
I want to yell at him. I want to curse him out and hang up and block his number. I want him to stop fucking calling me. Just let me disappear. Stop reminding me that people know I still exist. Leave me alone.
I swallow, clear my throat. I open my mouth and try to say, "I just ate lunch." At first, the words don't come. I try again, and then they do. The sound is weak and raspy and the words feel strange in my mouth, but they come out.
There's a pause. I think I can hear a smile in his voice, or maybe I'm just imagining it. "Good. What'd you have?"
"I put meat and cheese on a slice of bread," I tell him, adjusting my legs.
He hums. "Better than nothing."
I can't tell if he's making fun of me. I don't like it when I can't tell. I don't feel like replying to that if he is.
After a few moments of my silence, he clears his throat. "How are you feeling?"
"I feel okay today." I wonder if he knows I'm lying. Probably not.
He's quiet for a few seconds, and then asks, "Did you think about what we talked about last time?"
I can't remember what we talked about last time. "No. What are you talking about?"
"I mentioned the idea of getting a roommate," He reminds me. "I know a few people that could really use a place to stay. And it wouldn't hurt if there was someone in that house other than you."
He just doesn't want to have to call me anymore. He doesn't want to, but that thought makes him feel guilty. He figures if there's someone else here, he won't feel as guilty for not calling to make sure "I'm still here" anymore. I don't know how to tell him that I don't need him to call me. Talking to him is exhausting.
"I don't think a roommate is necessary," I tell him. "I've got everything taken care of."
My disability and unemployment checks are enough to keep the house from foreclosure, the water running, and the lights and heat on, with some left to spare for groceries every once in a while.
"I didn't mean help with bills or whatever," he dismisses.
I take a deep breath. "I know."
"Would you please consider it? And if you decide it's a good idea, call me and tell me? A friend of my sister-in-law is moving into town and needs a place to stay."
"What's she like?" I ask.
"It's a he. His name is Arthur, he's a nurse. I think you'd like him."
What the hell do you know? You don't know anything.
"I hope you think about it, Aedin. I think it'd make you feel a little better."
I hang up the phone and drag myself up to my feet. I'm soaking wet but exhausted. I don't feel like climbing upstairs to bed, or walking to the bathroom to change, so I collapse onto the couch with a groan, pulling a blanket off of the floor from the last time I'd slept here, and pull it around me until it's tight around my biceps.
The rain keeps falling outside on the patio. I try to feel, one last time before I close my eyes and fall asleep.
I try to feel, but it's just fuzzy. My throat feels tight again.