when i wake up.

You wake up filled with dread.

There seems no reason for it.

Morning light sifts through the window,

there is birdsong,

you can't get out of bed.

― Margaret Atwood

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The sun was blinding, it was hurting her eyes.
Her eyes were shut, but the rays seemed to penetrating her eyelids.
The sun probably had something against her,
the sun probably did this on purpose;
strongly casting its ray through the thin day curtain,
to hurt her eyes, to wake her up from her deep slumber.

Oh, the slumber.
Not quite the word to describe her sleep.
Her dreams were terrifying,
and the only place she could escape from reality.
But the only place she thought she could find peace,
was worse than a nightmare.

Her hands instinctively moved up to shade her eyes.
Those darn rays, shining like a bright taunting smile.
Is a good night's sleep really impossible?
After her multiple attempts of falling asleep had failed,
those little white tablets eventually lost its power too.
One isn't enough, is it? She takes more.

Sleep doesn't come easy, but when she's awaken
by the slightest sounds and the tiniest little squeaks,
they seem to echo in her head, and she can't go back to sleep.
She lay in bed, burying herself beneath the comforter.
Not much of a comforter, so much for it's name.
She laid awake in there for an hour or so.

About time she got out of bed, her stomach hadn't made a noise at all.
Her body probably has something against itself as well.
She dragged herself to the kitchen, sparkling clean and inviting.
Knocking against one of the containers on the shelf, salt landed on her leg.
It hurt, even the salt had something against her.
When will she ever get a moment of tranquility and peace?

An appetite that does not require much satisfying,
what should she make? A delicious bowl of noodles or simply just bread.
But the bread's got mould on it, should she proceed?
Darn bread, even food has something against her.
She definitely wasn't in the mood for cooking as well.
She makes a cup of coffee.

Caffeine was like a drug.
She has been hooked on to it for a long time,
easily consuming 6 cups or more each day.
Separation from caffeine made her delirious,
but right at this moment, the coffee wasn't stopping her from going crazy.
Does the coffee now have something against her too?

The wind was blowing, she had forgotten to close the window again.
She walked over to the ledge and looks down.
A row of beautiful cars, and a garden full of greens and flowers.
Could that be what paradise looks like?
All she had to do was to take a step and she could be in paradise.
No, the coffee on the table as unfinished.

The breeze stopped, as the windows were closed.
On the way back to the table, she stopped at a cardboard.
It was a display of sand, collected from many different places.
She stopped for awhile, and thought about the times she spent hours at the beach.
She was laughing, he was laughing, they were laughing.
And she wondered for a bit, when was the last time she laughed like that?

Walking back to try and finish her drink, she felt nauseated.
The rush of memories was making her unwell.
She was about to throw up, but she stopped herself.
Perhaps she would get through today, just like any other day.
Every day was somehow a repeat, she needed to find a purpose somehow.
She made herself another cup of coffee.

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M.

i'm afraid.