Till’ Dawn

The ringing in my ears never ends, a ringing somewhat reminiscent of a siren continues to play in the background of my mind as if it were white noise. Along with it comes a soft fuzzy feeling, one that fills my body as if I’m wearing headphones and playing white noise at excruciating volumes. There has always been a presence of this noise, never ending, and not too forgiving. My limbs tighten and restrict my breathing somehow in a manner of their own, creating their own sensations to add to a cocktail of anxiety. Whenever I inhale, air comes to me in separated, and stiff breaths, allowing just enough precious oxygen to keep my vision cloudy, and my body alive.

Vulnerability. That’s the only word to describe how I feel. Agony may have been a better term, but sometimes I’m happy. I shouldn’t claim instability over this simple rough patch. I should feel happy that this is as bad as it gets. There are people in this world with insufferable issues, and things they cannot control. Then again there are hundreds of teens who find themselves in a rough home and create an escape.

I could find a job, something to occupy my time and emotions and give me something in return for my struggles, but I crave a life that is simple, something I am familiar and comfortable with. Is this laziness? By refusing to waste my last year of high school working myself nearly to death to escape I would be abandoning everything I’ve ever hoped to have. However by staying in the comfort of my unclean room and thunder stricken home I am being unproductive. If my life is so miserable I should find an escape. This would all be so simple if I simply had the motivation to commit to these ideas, instead of grieving my past, my present, and dreading my future.

My breath continues in short, ragged strokes, toying with the idea of suffocation. In this world of mine I can feel the risk, the possible reward, and the temptation. My back presses comfortably into my queen sized mattress, as my body remains unmoving. I force my neck to crane in the direction of my phone, checking the time. 1am.

In my world it is night. When everyone has fallen asleep and I can no longer hear the sounds of cars passing my home. Where the crickets have finally ceased their rambunctious noise, and where I can do just about anything, as long as I am quiet. My eyes fall over the insomnia medication decorating my makeshift bedside table, an overturned bookshelf littered with pop cans and sketchbooks. I turn my head away from the mess, wanting to forget that I am unclean, and once again focus my vision upon my ceiling. My white, plain, unclean ceiling.

In my world everything I touch is filthy, riddled with mess. These things will never become clean again, as once they’ve been tainted by my touch they have been declared impure in my mind. As if I have some gift to destroy the things I love the most.

Hours pass, each one filled by a new hyperfixation. Drawings scatter over my hardwood floor one by one, each crossed out and vandalized, crumbled into tiny paper balls. My guitar lays across my bed, knocked out of tune from my continuous movement in the room I declare my sanctuary. Empty store brand water bottles and diet pills also litter my floors, reminding me every time I glance down that I am in fact, unwell, and unclean.

Dawn. The lack of sweet sleep has me feeling my heart moving in my chest, my movements lethargic and uncalculated. There is a strange feeling in my stomach, one I am all too familiar with, as hunger sets in, reminding me that it has been two days since my last actual meal. Surprisingly enough, one can survive off of snacks and water alone, as long as they carry enough stress to burn the calories they bring with them. 109, 215, 310, altogether is 634. In the minds of those who are healthy that number is small. That though within itself is terrifying considering I consider that number high, and concerning.

As the noise begins to return to the world, I quietly mourn the hours of silence and remain where I lay, anxiously waiting for the day to end, so that I may return to my world of solitude, and unrest.