Comatose

1. The Idea

1

The only thing lighting the pitch black room was the light from my room was the laptop screen. I anxiously sat in my bed scowled over my screen, constantly refreshing the page as I awaited my scores.  All I need is a twenty-one. That will get me through college.  I know my parents couldn’t afford college, but that wasn’t going to stop them from sending me and moving forward with my life.  I would a twenty-one on my ACT to qualify me for a guaranteed state scholarship.

Refreshing the page twice more, I saw the screen change. There it was – my score. I could feel my eyes drying out from not blinking. My heart felt like it was going to explode. I made a nineteen. Not too bad, I reassured myself. I’ll just try again. But three points away is too close not to be upset. That’s as little as 5 questions. I should have eaten a better breakfast, studied harder, guessed better, managed my time, anything.

I could foreshadow the next morning during breakfast where my dad would tell me that it was going to be okay and I could do better, no doubt. “I have faith in you.” he always said. But my problem wasn’t his faith in me – which was stronger than it really ever should have been – rather, I had no faith within myself.

            I didn’t know what I wanted to be. I listened to my friends speak of how they knew they were going to be living their destiny’s. Amy knew she was going to be a vet from the moment she got her first puppy, and Morgan decided she would become a paramedic when she chopped her finger off and met the paramedics of her dreams on her ride to the hospital. It seemed as if everyone knew what they wanted with their life and had the right amount of pure jolt to accomplish it. By the time Amy and Morgan were settled in their lives, I would be receiving my Ph.D. in General Studies.

            Frustrated, I shut my laptop off and shoved it beneath my bed. As I layed in the darkness, I looked straight into the invisible ceiling, wondering if there was really anyone up there. I prayed to God each night, never missing a day. I repeated the same lines to God every single night, giving thanks and praying for the world. But also, I asked this God, “What is my purpose? Why am I here? I know you sent me here for a reason, but I do not and I will not understand unless you shove it right in my face and spell it out for me.” Maybe not the most appropriate way to ask for help, but he needed to know how bluntly I needed him to hear me. Sometimes I would cry or whimper out for a God to hear me. Maybe not even a God – anyone. I just need to know there was a reason worth living. If someone came to me and told me they were God and that I was destined to do something I absolutely hated, such as becoming a math teacher, I would have done it without question.

            I needed reassurance, which I did not have. All I really knew was that I wanted to travel the world and be happy. But what would make me happy? I felt as if Gatsby really admitted his feelings that he wanted to be happy and went through all that mumbo jumbo to win Daisy, we would have the same feelings towards life. We both did things that didn’t make us happy, but thought accomplishing a list of what other people had would make us happy. We both wanted love, a house, a family, wealth, but most importantly – happiness. yet, neither of us will ever truly know what happiness is until we would admit to ourselves that we are lost.

            The next morning, I woke up to my dad making fresh, homemade biscuits and gravy. To me, he was the best cook in the entire world. My dad gave the true meaning of food being made with love. He even made the best popcorn, and hated the sight of it.

“Morning,” I said as I sleeplessly and heavily eyed down my food. I grabbed a plate and walked into the dining room, where my dad had already made me a glass of orange juice. We stared blankly at each other for a solid ten seconds before he brought things to surface.