Ana in Wonderland

Tired

At

five

months

pregnant,

I stood

in front of the

bathroom mirror,

a look of

pure disgust

on my face.

Kyler watched me from a distance,

always staying close enough

to reach me if I made any

rational, or endangering

decision.

I was fat,

horridly,

gruesomely

fat.

I turned to the side,

and sucked in

as much as I could.

The bulge

of my stomach

went nowhere;

I screamed.

I pressed

my hands

against the rock

hardness

of my flesh,

trying to mentally

convince it to

go away.

I heaved,

a tearless sob.

I no longer had

the energy

to cry,

to laugh,

to smile,

to hate,

to love.

I knew

I should

love this child,

but

I couldn't

bring myself

to feel anything.

Not for the life

I had created,

not for the life

I was living.

My stomach

protruded at

a balloon like

state.

I hated it.

I was constantly

weighing myself,

then

being scolded

by Kyler

for doing so.

No matter what I did,

the weight just kept coming.

I had never

needed

or

wanted

Ana more.

I was losing sleep,

along with

my sanity.

Kyler was constantly

at my side,

scared if he left,

I'd hurt myself

or the baby.

I hadn't showered

without him in the room

in three months.

And

I

was

starting

to

become

tired.

Tired of my life,

tired of my decisions,

tired of my restrictions,

tired of everything.

And

a

person

can

only

go

so

long

with

being

tired.