white ceilings

After she left again, the silence screamed. And I couldn't carry it anymore. So I took the pills- not to die, but because I didn't know how else to make it stop. Tylenol, one by one, like each one could erase a memory, a disappointment, a scream I swallowed. Next thing I knew, white ceilings, a tube down my throat, nurses with eyes that looked through me. They pumped my stomach, but not my sorrow. They cleaned my blood, but not my story. I lived. But some part of me never made it out of that hospital bed. And the part that did? Stopped pretending she was okay.