Sleeping pills.

After my operation, I thought I would never walk again. I had to learn how to walk; something I thought would be easy. It actually turned out to be difficult, both physically and emotionally.

The bedroom is dark, dimly lit by the fading sunshine coming in through the windows as I sit upright in bed under the duvet.  As the sunshine fades, I can see swallows dance in the sky - to be free and care-free of anything in the world must be blissful.

As I continue to watch the swallows fly in the sky, I find myself thinking about what the physiotherapist told me earlier that day at the session; to walk.  A heavy weight pushes against my chest as I remember those words and inside my mind I panic, telling myself that I can't walk; I will never walk again.

I tear my eyes away from the sky and tentatively move the duvet off from my legs.  The cold air crashes into my skin making my legs feel cold and numb.  I shake my head in despair as I stare at my legs, thinking to myself why I have them if I can't walk.  

With a finger, I prod my thighs, feeling each and every prod; temptation claws at my hand to drag my finger nails over my thighs, just to see if I am still dreaming.  Unfortunately, I could feel each and every nail, with the discomfort they brought with them.

In my mind, I imagine moving my leg over the side of the bed, to feel the smoothness of the carpet under my feet, the warmth of the house pulsing into every room; but instead of that happening, all I get is a twitch of my foot.  

I sigh with disbelief that at 20 years of age, I am back in my parents house, being cared for by my mother and yet I cannot walk to even get a glass of water for myself.

Standing on the bedside table is a bottle of sleeping pills; staring at the pill between my fingers, I look at the white, smooth texture before swallowing it.  I plug myself into my iPod, feeling the coldness of the earphones in my ears sends a shudder through my body.  Now time to decide what to listen to as I flick through my playlist.  

Eventually, I begin listening to 30 Seconds to Mars; perhaps if I ignore this problem, it will go away tomorrow morning.

Wishful thinking; or wasted hope?

The End

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