Under My Skin

Unrelenting

The beeping of the alarm woke me at promptly six forty-five. I began the usual routine of gathering and ironing the clothes for the day, down to the socks. I set out antiseptic, new bandages and gauze to cover the.. - God knows what to call it- all over the palm of my hand. The deodorant, floss, toothpaste, mouthwash, comb, face soap, they were all lined up on the counter for efficiency. That way, I get in and out faster. Truthfully speaking, there was no reason for me to rush. If anything, I have all the time in the world. But doing something efficiently feels kind of like an accomplishment, which is something I don't get too many of. My psychiatrist routinely tells me I avoid accomplishments to avoid the possibility of failure. And to avoid the fear and discomfort that comes with achieving those milestones. But I'm not sure. To my opinion, I just don't have a lot of opportunities for accomplishment.

Not everyone celebrates the minor things the way that I do. When you don't have many opportunities for accomplishment, you make your own. Stepping onto the deck to get the paper, touching a dirty dish with gloves, even just making it through the day.

The Doctor says to challenge those boundaries and break those routines, disrupt rituals. But I have them for a reason. They keep order, they keep things certain, they keep me safe.
You can't just abandon the rules, you can't just abandon the instructions that keep you safe.

With brushed teeth, a washed body, combed hair, dressed cuts, and freshly ironed clothes, I progressed downstairs for breakfast.

Every morning, it's the same breakfast. Two slices of dry wheat toast with a sliced apple. Golden Delicious, not Mcintosh Reds, I didn't like the shape and they're not a pure red. Of course, Red Delicious exist, but they're mushy, I'd rather pull my own teeth than eat a mushy apple.

Down the stairs, shirt buttoned to the middle of my throat, I started to the kitchen. I sliced the apple, prepared the coffee, got everything ready for breakfast, as I always do. When I finally got the bread from the cupboard, I was instantly hit by the inevitable first roadblock of the day. Through the thin plastic bag, you could see the growth of a green and white mold, spotting all over the loaf.

"Oh, shoot.." I whispered to myself, throwing the bag out into the garbage. That was last bag. I always have two bags, that was the backup. The groceries aren't delivered until Monday, but I can't wait that long to eat. I don't have anything else, I never have anything else, why would I have anything else - it's the only breakfast I can eat, I can't eat other breakfasts, and I can't skip breakfast, either, that's absurd, skipping it is just as bad as eating something else.
At my wit's end, I picked up the phone. 'Call me if you need anything at all' he said. He must've meant it, he wouldn't have said it if he didn't mean it.

I dialed the number on the piece of scrap paper I'd written it down on, drumming my fingers on the counter at a rapid pace while the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Yes, Hello, is this Connor?"

"Yes it is, who's this?"

"This is.. um.. Kevin. Your neighbor." I twisted the imaginary phone cord around my finger

"Kevin, of course, how are you?"

"Fine.. uh, you said to call you if I needed anything.. I-I hate to do this, but it's kind of an emergency.."

"It's not a problem, is everything okay?"

"Yes. No. Um.. no, do you have any bread?"

"..bread?"