I suspect this belongs in the Creative Writing Forum, except that it is how I am presently "feeling." I have to go out to a family function in less than two hours and somehow put on my mask, my face of lies, my tougher than whatever life hands me, plucky attitude. I'm running out of pluck. I'm tired. I'm not like myself these days. I haven't been able to cheer myself out of this and it's scary. Things spun counterclockwise in her mind, an unanticipated retrospective that added to the blur and burn. She breathed in the sadness, deep, dark, smoky and choking. Tears raced up her cheeks, bunched together, welled, then disappeared, retreating into the corners of her eyes. She gasped in a breath of air that originally had been sputtered out as a sob. Her arms unwrapped themselves from around her/ (What little comfort they had been anyway!). As if she were an awkward marionette, her head was jerked back suddenly from its hiding place at her shoulder. Now there was a sucking sound, “smluk”, that came from where she withdrew her curled right fist from her upper left arm, the energy of a fast, hard punch evidenced in the reversed motion and in the receding fury on her face. Twice, thrice. Disappearing. Three lumps…three bruises…three hits. Calm arrived three times as her fist was drawn back and dropped to momentary non-enmity. With the cup to her mouth, she tilted her head back and filled the cup with the water she had swallowed. Then, without mess, she took 30 pills from her mouth and dropped them neatly into the pill bottle, whose label was once again whole. The cup, back to her mouth refilled with hot water that she unswallowed into it. Her hands neatly caught an indefinite number of pills that followed the hot water out of her mouth, and although they came out in broken bits, the pills reformulated in reverse time to create their original wholes. Into her hand, she spat out the dry crystals she had emptied from of the blue gel tabs. One by one, she refilled the tabs and set them back into their prescription bottle. The glass she put to her mouth now refilled with booze, which she flowed back into its bottle. She spat more pills into her hand, danced away more punches, this time to her thigh and gut. She watched in the mirror as she unbrushed her hair – the bristles untearing her scalp in the undoing of her actions. She remembered thinking, “Just let me die this time.” She thought. “Just let me die.” Then time unpassed and surpassed itself. For now, the clocked ticked forward again.