It all started with the headaches.
It's hard when your an actor on Broadway and you get constant headaches. It makes you stumble on your lines, trip in your dances, and screw up all your songs.
My director made me stay at home until they go away. Although it's nice to stay at home and have a little break to spend some off time with my boyfriend, I can't stand it much longer.
It's to quiet in my house, even though I lived in the middle of New York City. I mean, I'll just be sitting there and then all of a sudden, I'll hear the monotone beep, beep, beep, and then it'll stop as quickly as it started. It's driving me insane.
The only thing that makes me feel better is my boyfriend, Peter. He will call during the day to check up on me from his work. He's always saying things like,"Melissa? I'll come home right now if the headache is coming back" and "Mel, I can't stop thinking about you. I'll stop by right after work". He's the only thing holding me steady.
Today, I'm sitting in my bed, trying to a book next to my window but I can't focus on my book because I'm watching the rays of sunlight dance across my book.
Dancing. I've been at home for almost a week and I just want to go back to the theatre. Back to the stage. Back to where my hearts pulling me. Just back to where I belong.
My hand flies to my forehead as the headache comes back again. So I make my away out of my bed and to the bathroom where I splash some water on my face like I've done a million times this week.
I look up in my mirror and watch as the ice cold water drips down my face. I can't look away from my own reflection; whenever I look at myself, something feels wrong about my appearance no matter what. I've never been able to figure out what it is that makes me feel that way. Honestly, I'm completely ordinary. I have normal brown eyes, plain brown hair, and an average height at 5'6. Either way, I shake my head and dry off my face on a nearby towel. Then I take a large glass of water and go back to my bed and somehow let myself drift off to sleep.
••• ••• ••• ••• ••• ••• •••
I wake up in my bed and scream. My head feels like someone is slamming a hammer against it. I see Peter run into my room and grab a phone, probably calling 911 but I can't tell because my eyes are filled with tears. He pulls me into his arms and I can barely see his mouth moving into the words I love you. he's looking at me with panic and fear in his eyes.
Then, everything starts to get brighter. I grip my head and burrow my face into my knees. My ears are ringing, my head on fire, and a horrible feeling in my heart.
I stay that way for several minutes until I find myself laying down with my hand being held firmly and comfortingly. I slowly pry open my eyes and bring my hand quickly over them.
All I can tell is I'm not in my room. Something doesn't feel right.
I groggily look over slightly and see a monitor that I'm hooked up to. I glance the other way, still squinting from the light and see not Peter holding my hand, but my mother. My fathers next to her. Their both crying. I can't even see their faces.
Then I see it. My my younger brother. My younger brother is 19 and now he looks about 10 years old. Then I see above him, a sign saying something about comas.
I was in a coma.
I was in a coma.
I was in a coma.
I think that's when reality smack me on the side of the head, because that's when I passed out. All could remember was the image of Peter holding me and me not knowing that was the last time I'd see him.
I hear the monitor as I pass out.
Beep, beep, beep.
