When Creating Prose Empties the Soul of its Pain by Barb Cerda for ChapterSee


broken heart

A week passed and the booze and seclusion did little to stop the pain that stole my sleep and kept the tears flowing.  The sudden loss of my friend, lover, and partner seemed more than I could handle. I thought all was good and right with my world.  A great job with a global media marketer, a boyfriend I thought loved and wanted to marry me. Then the door to my dreams suddenly slammed shut leaving me staring into a black abyss. Stark fear and hurt took hold of my senses. There was a desperate need for solace.

Interrupting her busy workday my best friend Aisha responded immediately. I knew she heard all reason abandoned in my shaky voice.   Friends since grammar she rearranged her schedule to meet me the next afternoon for lunch. Staring that morning into the bathroom mirror, I tried to calm my nerves enough to apply makeup to hide the dark circles and swollen eyes. The face staring back at me affirmed a struggling recovery from a week of constant booze and too little food.  Dulled senses, a stomach churning, and I was throwing up twice a day.

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