The Girl Who Heard Voices.

Slumber.

I wake up to the sound of screams each morning. 

Most people get annoyed by the sound of their alarm clock blaring in their ear, ordering them to crawl out from under the security of their blissful warm slumber. But me? No.

 I wake up to screaming. 

My own painful screams that echo in my head as I find myself unable to attain any authority of my own being. 

Why you might ask? I'll tell you why.

 Ever since I could remember mom always told me that I was a bipolar depressed schizophrenic who couldn't control herself, and it's true.

 I always see shadows at night, my hearing would always be drowned out by whispers and horrific shrieks late at night.

As I sit up, my reflection staring back at me as I glance at the mirror. 

My eyes dry and bloodshot as for my throat, I felt as if I were attempting to grasp a bottle of water while crawling through the Sahara desert. 

My mouth tasted like cotton while my eyes were two exhausted slits of nothingness. 

The screams grew louder as I stood to my feet. 

It's like they want me to just die in my sleep.

 But hey, I'm used to it.

I shuffle around my room and look for decent clothes to wear, my red hair frizzy and staticky at the same time, that's always a great combination. I decide to say fuck everything and go back to sleep although my ears feel like they're about to bleed. 

But I need Mom, usually whenever I'm around her the screams stop. 

She's the security of warm slumber that I lack within the night.