Dear Self, Breathe

I claim no skill in this. Just an observation of a falling out of mine.

She can't take it. Her full stomach. She thought she could talk herself down, but with that hot-air balloon of bulimia keeping her high, how could she ever get back?
Promises made to yourself are the easiest broken, but they hurt the worst. Her fingers will not rape her throat today. She is trapped.
Heart racing and fighting tears, her trembling fingers disconnect the iPod from the laptop. In her ears the music goes - calm the beast.
On the bike and out the door. Who cares how cold it is when your world is falling apart? Her face is much like milk and anorexia has given her two black eyes. She couldn't care less.
Determination fuels this ride to the park. Pedaling with all her might, she cannot feel the exertion. The numbness brings her momentary contentment, despite her body's retaliation.
She makes it a point not to look in the face of the people driving by. What if they see the chaos in her eyes? What if she falls down and cries? Never. Not in public.
The sidewalk is a double-decker cake of fallen leaves; she cannot pass. Clumsily she finds herself on the road and off the alabaster path. Back and forth, her frustration makes for an unsteady ride among the cars and cats.
Into the grass, over the roots of the tallest trees, past the slide and gazebo she rides. She flies off her silver and blue bicycle, flinging it to the side in desparation.
Crank it up loud.
Light up that cigarette.
Look to the sky as your feet leave the ground.
There is peace in the back and forth. The waxing and waning of her abused body. Closing her eyes she feels the wind. Much like a caress from the God she fails to find faith in. "Everything will be ok." She repeats to herself as the punk-folk vocalist screams violent truth in her ears.
Fight the tears.
Feel the freedom.
Higher and higher she flies, a futile attempt to escape the day.
To escape herself.
She's had enough and lies on the grass. Sure, it is moist from yesterday's rain, but when you're searching for peace what's a little mud on your back? Inhale- Exhale- Think- Exist- Disappear.
Decidedly calmed down, realizing it's all in her head, talking herself down yet again, she heads home. Refusing to brave the sea of leaves yet again, she pedals alongside the sidewalk. There is the crossroads. A four way stop. It's almost impossible to get across, unless you're patient or not afraid of death or injury.
She waits.
Inhale - Exhale
Silence overtakes as she realizes her iPod has fallen out of her oversized hoodie pocket. "F**k." Picking it up and plugging in the headphones, pressing play, and there's a van behind her. Look both ways. Clear. With her right foot on the pedal and ready to go home, so she can finally break down in peace, a cord gets caught and her iPod goes flying into the middle of the highway.
All cars stop.
What a nuisance she is.
"...I'm having a grand day." She mumbles, defeated.
She turns around, throws her bike into the nearby yard, retrieves the device and stands. Head down, avoiding eye contact. What's that? A tear. It's too much. The straw that broke her weakened back.
Fight it! She's a soldier. Getting back on, once again, letting ten cars go ahead of her; she rides. "Don't cry. You're ugly when you cry." Her lip trembles. Her face contorts. Exhale. Control regained.
She drifts into the garage, flings her bike inside, collapses on the icy concrete- submits to emotion and crumbles.

Author's Note

nervous breakdown today. This is it, more or less. Yeah, like I said, I claim no skill in this whatsoever. I know it's imperfect. But this is exactly how it felt.

Reviews

[Su' Nacnetaf]

Very emotional writing, I find it quite outstanding, even though you claim no skills. "Promises made to yourself are the easiest broken, but they hurt the worst.", I certainly agree with this thought, I guess everyone has experienced self-deception at least once. I liked the whole imagery used in the whole writing, very descriptive and you can feel what your character feels as you read. Just one detail which is most of the times false, usually, even though it is sad, a crying lady is more likely beautiful than ugly, just an opinion here. Excelent writing, keep it up.