Counting Carpet Squares

I'm sitting on the floor, criss-cross applesauce, picking at the lint on my bedroom floor. Relaxation for day's events has never gotten so simple. Hair askew, glasses creating a wall between my eyes and the world beyond, tongue curled in concentration. I've stripped my mind of everything life has ever given me except for these few things. I'm sweating, sitting in the wake of my bedroom fan. Medication is flowing through my bloodstream at an unknown rate to me, like the tiny creeks beside the school. Eyes flickering, fingers tapping. Who knew a few months off could make one so tickish?
Honestly, I've never felt so close to hell. None of today's events have involved my life individually. Absolutely none. But the fact that they all involve people that I love very much kills me with everything it could. One feeling, one sign. The rain on the field house roof. Deep thunder rumbles within as I lift some heavy weight. This feeling is so clean, but there's something going on. Because this morning I could of sworn I was in your arms. And now somethings missing. Rain. There's rain outside. And I put on that jacket. And somehow, I know. Something has gone horribly wrong. Because downtown, my mother is in that same tri-hospital city, hearing that same ambulance, and those same emergency doors. Unknowingly, she says a prayer of thanks, not knowing who that ambulance is for. As I'm crashing in the parking lot. Rain on this sacred jacket I decided to put on. About to throw up all that this morning has brought me. I bite my lips, breaking to bleeding, and look up to the skies with a bitter grimace. And for the first time, in a long time, I'm very, very afraid.
While someone else is battling at home. Waking to sounds of spitfire. Words unlovingly laid out on the kitchen table, like unpaid bills from the mailbox. I can only imagine the terror. The frustration of not being able to sleep, and wanting it to stop. Because thankfully, I'm blessed with a great life and great things. I look into those eyes and I see nothing but sleep deprivation. Nothing but sadness, worry and anger. My heart lurches. I offer a silent bed for the night. Tell her thing's work out over time. That something will happen. And with tired eyes she nods, hugs and leaves. And I'm left there to eat my apple, ripping into it with the force that my lunchbag has never seen before. There's pain in that face. I can see it. And again, I'm afraid.
This is one of the biggest weeks of my life. Preparing to become an adult, under the church, well, it's an important thing. I'm feeling the weight of all that is around me. I'm being tested. My faith is on the line. With the grip of no other, I'm holding on for dear life with the determination of everything I have. I'm fighting the first battle of my life, for the people I love.
So I lay here, staring at the ceiling, from the carpet below. Music encircles my head. I'm calming. Medication is slowing. I'm lulling away, to a far away land of sleep. I crawl into bed, and type a fervid "I love you" before time ends. I shiver. I shake. My lips quiver with tire and worn out worry. I'm done for the day. I want it all to be better. I want everyone's lives to fix. To be better.
But all I can do is listen. Witness. Watch from this glass that separates me from the world beyond, pounding violently on this barrier, not knowing what to do next.