The truth is this: I am lying to myself.
Happiness is rooted in my soul,
And smiles ignite fireworks in my eyes.
Livelihood only exists outside of the quiet corners of this mansion.
Boredom crawls on top of me and persuades me to be as still as possible.
As I wait to hear a needle drop, her dagger slices through the trap set for me.
I cannot fight back with what she’s made me believe:
No movement means relaxing;
Productivity must stop at the doorstep.
A stiff corpse laying stomach down on the bed absently scrolling as time clicks past.
Eyes flicker to the clock.
1 AM it reads.
“How did so much time pass me by?”
The feeling of impending doom resurfaces in streams of stress.
Suddenly a shower feels seductive to a worrisome mind.
Like the villain she is, Bed Rot promises one more video will make me feel fantastic,
But my awareness goes numb again.
Under these sheets, I feel at home.
The world terrifies me, and once my required time in society is over
I crave the comfort of my makeshift fort.
My bed cradles me when work bruises my body and heart.
Its warmth reassures me I am safe once more, but is the comfort protective or harmful?
Am I seeking refuge for my drained social battery?
Or am I scared to be viewed as different once I stop my facade of normality?
Where is the line drawn between security and addiction?
Morning breaches through the blinds and whispers softly for me to wake up.
With a jolt, the panic arises.
The same routine and the lack of structure overwhelms,
A disastrous tremble shakes through the walls.
Rushing through the halls and forgetting important medication, our morning begins!
No breakfast, no plan, and no coffee:
A clear recipe for a horrible start to the day.
Zombie-eyed and petrified of the future,
My brain searches for a moment of clarity.
“Why must everything make me struggle?”
“Where is my break?”
It’s there in the remaining piles of comfort on your bed.
Once there, the promiscuous dread glares down from the ceiling at me, hiding the truth from me.
Discipline abandoned me for a quick hit of serotonin an eternity ago.
Staring down the barrel of internal disappointment, I see a light within the darkness.
The revelation burns hot, but honesty often sears.
Pause and consider: “Am I aligning with my goals of keeping my happiness that I once sold away to purchase the wrong person’s love amidst my doom scrolling and bet rotting?”
All the progress halted for fear of starting the improvements the wrong way.
Failure to show up for yourself creates gashes far worse than embarrassment.
Reward yourself with your dreams, and wake up from your decade-long slumber.
Elyssa Latham (she/her) is a woman of words, and reader. Elyssa’s works express strong emotions that people go through and get the reader to feel those emotions alongside her. She wants readers to take away that it is okay to allow yourself to feel and that you can craft art out of pain.
Featured image by Becca Tapert on Unsplash.
