"How are you?"
"I'm fine." I responded, head down.
"You don't look fine."
"I'm not. I just said that so you would leave quicker."
I took a chance and tipped my head upward, locking eyes with his.
"Do you need to go home?"
The lump was building in my throat.
"Probably... " I replied with broken words, "If I talk about it, I will cry."
He hurried out of my office as the phone rang, which I answered with the voice that says -speak fast and hang up, I'm crying over here-it was difficult.
A few hours later, I was in my car heading to the pharmacy for a new prescription. The one that was going to take an hour to fill. So I skipped the task and went home instead.
I was surprised to see a package I was waiting for, sitting on the kitchen table, days early. A new ring. A wedding ring.
I slipped off the old one and grunted the new one on. Same size my ass. The rest of the night was spent Googling ways to get it off.
I tried oil, soap, Windex, lotion, ice...it's still on my finger. It hurts but isn't cutting off circulation. It's sort of keeping my mind off other things.
And here I sit, in yoga pants that need washing. Forcing food into my body. Latuda takes away my appetite. Can't go wrong with that...
Another day home from work, fully knowing people are whispering about me. Whispering about shit they know nothing about. The sad part is that it matters to me what they say. What they think. Because tomorrow I will mostly be ignored, which gears up my paranoia.
This is all I can handle right now. I will sit and stare and wish this stupid fucking ring to let go.