Eggs and Bacon

The sunshine of a new day spreads over my face from the window, trickling down to my neck. It beckons me upwards from my bed, inviting me to finally begin the day with its warmth. It’s a Sunday, aptly named, and I turn over in my bed, revelling in the softness of my sheets. The blanket cradles me like a mother. There’s a beautiful view of the morning sky through a crack in the blinds. It’s almost like the hills themselves are beaming with optimism. 
I slide out of bed, surprised at my euphoria. It's been a while since I've felt like this. The room is bright, like an orangey haze. Any worries I could possibly possess fade away as I stare vacantly out of the window, rubbing my hands down my face. The messy floor and stained walls that used to gnaw at the back of my mind so often don’t seem to bother me anymore. 
My feet glide into my slippers and the warmth sticks to my body even as I step into the shade of my bathroom. The tap water, which before today I considered dirty and unclean, splashes across my face in an intoxicating manner. A pleasant smell hangs in the air. At first, I can’t quite place a name to it, but I realise soon enough. Eggs and bacon. If I listen closely, I can even hear it sizzling in the frying pan downstairs, my mouth salivating in anticipation. 
I walk down the stairs slowly, savouring each breath I take. The kitchen is covered in a thin veil of smoke, wrapping around the doorframes and through the entire house. More heavenly rays of sunlight shine into the room, and in the middle of it all, my beautiful wife, a smile on her rosy-red lips and a frying pan in her hand. The bacon bounces softly in the air as she gently shakes the pan. We say nothing to each other, no words are needed. Just that sweet smile of hers and a nod of acknowledgement from me. She hums gently as I linger on the bottom step, soaking in her radiance. 
A small bottle of pills sits motionless on the counter by her side. I examine the label for a moment. It’s a quarter mg of Risperdal. What was the dosage again? Once per morning, once per night. Doctor’s orders. 
I unscrew the lid with little effort. A handful of colourless pills fall into my hand. My wife turns slightly, a look of trepidation in her eyes. She seems uncomfortable. I hesitate, frowning at the pills. Blood rushes to my head, and my mouth now feels dry and swollen. The longer I stare, the more it feels as if my newfound joy is slipping away, out of my grasp. A gentle hand brushes against the back of my neck, caressing my shoulders.
The pills slide down my throat slowly, leaving a powdery trail. I blink a few times and rub my eyes. Suddenly, the room doesn’t seem so bright anymore. There’s mess on the table from last night and dirty dishes to be washed. It feels quieter. My eyes catch a view out of the window much different than I saw before; with rain thrashing against the glass, and dark clouds occupying the sky. That previous sense of warmth and security that inhabited my body just a few minutes ago has evaporated.
And then I realise, the sizzling is gone. Now it’s just… silent. And the smell, the eggs and the bacon, that’s gone too. All that’s left is the dust in the air. 
My mouth is parched. I turn once more, back to the stove, to embrace my wife, to feel her lips touch mine as I wish they could. 
She’s gone.
My stomach growls, and my head hangs low as I crack a single egg into the frying pan.
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Category:Food
Category:Mental Illness
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