Beneath the surface

Chapter one: the weight of the morning

The alarm clock blares its usual tune, the one that feels more like a challenge than a wake-up call. I stare at the ceiling, trying to gather the strength to sit up. My body feels so heavy, like every muscle is weighed down by an invisible force.

I'm only seventeen, but some days I feel ancient. My friends are busy planning their futures, dreaming of college, travel, and careers. My dreams have shrunk over the past few years. I don't imagine a life full of adventure anymore; instead, I fantasize about waking up without pain.

I close my eyes, willing myself to get up, to move. The first step is always the hardest. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, feeling the cool floor beneath my feet. My head swims for a moment, the dizziness making everything spin. I take a deep breath, gripping the edge of the mattress until the world settles back into place.

The sun is peeking through the curtains, casting a soft glow across my room. It's a beautiful day outside, but I don't feel any of its warmth. The light only highlights the stark contrast between the world outside and the battle I face inside. I force myself to stand, feeling the stiffness in my joints. The mirror across the room reflects a girl who looks fragile, her skin pale, with dark circles etched under her eyes.

I shuffle to the bathroom, each step a conscious effort. I know today will be like the others—a series of tasks I have to complete, one by one, each draining my energy a little more. Brushing my teeth, washing my face, getting dressed; simple routines that have become mountains to climb.

In the kitchen, the smell of coffee drifts through the air, but it does little to lift my spirits. Mom is already up, bustling around with an energy I envy. "Morning, sweetheart," she says, smiling as she places a plate of toast on the table. "How are you feeling today?"

The question hangs in the air, familiar and routine, yet still difficult to answer. I shrug, trying to muster a smile. "Same as usual," I reply, my voice flat.

Her smile falters, but only for a moment. "Well, we'll take it easy today, okay? No need to push yourself too hard."

I nod, but inside, I feel a pang of guilt. I hate being a burden, hate that my illness dictates not just my life, but my family's as well. Mom has adjusted her work schedule, Dad has become more involved at home, and even my younger brother has learned to keep the noise down when I'm not feeling well. They all tiptoe around my illness, like it's some fragile thing that could shatter at any moment.

I nibble on the toast, though I'm not hungry. Food is just another thing I have to get through. My stomach churns, as it often does in the mornings, but I force down a few bites, knowing I need the energy.

The clock ticks away, and I realize I'm running out of time. School awaits me, another hurdle to jump. I don't know how I'm going to make it through the day, but I have to try. I always have to try.

Mom hands me my backpack, already packed with the essentials. "I put your medication in the front pocket," she says gently, her eyes full of concern. "And don't forget to check in with the nurse if you're feeling worse."

"I will," I promise, though I hate the idea of another visit to the nurse's office. It's become a second home, a place where I can retreat when my body can't take any more.

The ride to school is quiet. I stare out the window, watching the world blur by. My mind wanders to a time before all of this when I was just like everyone else. I used to love school, used to be the girl who never missed a day. Now, every day feels like a gamble—will my body cooperate, or will it betray me halfway through?

Mom pulls up to the school, giving me a hopeful smile. "You've got this, Emma. Just take it one step at a time."

I nod, though my heart isn't in it. I step out of the car, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on my shoulders. The school building looms ahead, a place that once felt like a haven but now feels like a battlefield.

I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and walk toward the entrance. I can feel the stares of my classmates as I pass by, can hear the whispers that follow me. I'm the girl who's always sick, the one who misses more days than she attends. But I try not to let it get to me. I have enough battles to fight without adding high school drama to the mix.

The halls are a blur of noise and movement, but I move through them like I'm wading through mud. Each step is a struggle, each breath a conscious effort. I make it to my locker, leaning against it for support as I fumble with the combination. My hands shake, and I have to try three times before it opens.

Books in hand, I trudge to my first class, praying I'll make it through the day without collapsing. But even as I sit down at my desk, I know it's going to be a long, hard day. It always is.