Tired

I hear my mom calling me from my bedroom. I do not want to move, I just want to slip back into that darkness, the silence. It’s not peaceful, it’s isolating. Being in the kitchen sounds like hell though, worse than this.

I hear my door open.

“Are you sleeping?” I hear someone ask me.

I do not reply. I groan internally. I just want to it stop. I’m so on edge from the pain. My stomach turns and my eyes hurt, it feels like someone is driving an ice pick in my eye again.

I stand up and a wave of nausea comes over me again, I’m dizzy. On uneasy feet, I walk out into the kitchen, turning off every light I can.

“Are you tired?” my brother asks me. “Were you sleeping?”

I glare at him. I can only imagine how I look, sunken face, hollow bloodshot eyes. I wish I was sleeping. I’m not tired. This is what I get with a full nights rest, an evening of migraine pain.

“No, I don’t feel good,” I reply and collapse into the chair, hitting the light switch on my way down. I cradle my head in my hands.

“I have a fucking migraine.” I lay my head on the table and my mom puts a plate of food in front of me.

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