Nothing ever changes: every day I set my foot on the subway escalator, and I feel the first wave on nausea coming on. My head starts to pulsate and I feel my legs shaking. The stairs keep going up, and all I want to do I jump off, go back into the comforting darkness of the subway. Yet, I manage to hold on and get out into the street.
The sun is shining, mocking me. I feel more and more sick with every step I take toward the office. I stare firmly into the door, head held high, trying not to show the despair I feel.
I would take a deep breath before I enter, but I can not, my lungs are frozen, I crave for a cigarette and a shot of tequila.
I push the door. I force myself to smile at the receptionist, my lips hurting. I say: "Hi" She smiles, I wonder if her lips hurt too.
I get to the elevator without crying, thank God for that, I hear a Ding as the doors open, I shudder. I walk in, look in the mirror, no sign of the pain I feel.
Ninth floor, I get out. Glass everywhere, blue skies, makes me want to crawl into a whole. I walk up to my desk, leave my coat on the hanger, go firmly and slowly towards the bathroom, careful not to show the rush I feel. I lock my self in and throw up quietly.
Another working day has begun.
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