I should be sleeping. Instead I lay in bed, fully clothed, contemplating. How am I supposed to sleep comfortably when things are going the way they are?

He lost his job, then his home. It's the story so many Americans tell these days. All that's left are memories of the days when money was not an issue and a bond stronger than unemployment or homelessness.

And though I try to stay strong for him, for myself, for US, I can't help but realize I hurt more each day. Adolescent acne has returned to my once clear face with a vengeance; my once even toned skin is blotchy and yellowed from malnourishment, because I won't eat if he isn't. My eyes are swollen and sore from days of sobbing, my lips swollen from wailing and screaming. But the countless tears do nothing but pave the way for more salty emissions streaming down my cheeks, endless waterfalls that can't and will not stop.

My eyelids are beginning to droop and my muscles hurt. So I will lock this pain in a lockbox that will keep it out of my way for the time being.0