𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 | billie eilish

008

wednesday - september 23, 2020

𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧
𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐, 𝟔:𝟑𝟎𝐚𝐦
𝐥𝐨𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬

I shift my gaze away from my filthy phone screen as a gentle, warm sunbeam meets my face, blinds my view and tickles my nose lightly.

"Fuck," I cuss to myself in hushed tones and try to run my hand through my raveled hair, which I haven't properly brushed in a week.

It's Sunday, and it's 6:30 in the morning. I haven't slept all night long, forced my eyelids to stay wide open in order to keep my consciousness alive. Unfortunately, it is not exaggerated when I tell you that I am the most afraid of myself as soon as I realize that the phase of deep sleep is about to take control over me and my body; my brain and my imagination. Because of the returning nightmares, the panic, the uncomfortable tossing around. But you were already informed about that fact.

I press a button on the right side of my phone and watch the screen go pitch black. Solely my facial features are reflecting in it.

My eyes are burning and I'm overly sleepy. A long rest would be the best decision I could choose to make now. However, I don't even consider closing my eyes for a couple of hours to refill my energy levels and provide my body with something that it could be in urgent and good use of.

I force myself to ponder over what activity I could possibly begin my day with. There are school assignments that are piled on my desk and need to be sent in by 8pm. Nearly 70 percent of them are blank, questions are unanswered, texts are unwritten. Yesterday I received an e-mail from my principal, Ms. Bloom, who is also my psychology teacher, and she courteously wanted to know my state of health considering the circumstances at home, if I was able to catch up on the work and whether I desired talking to her in person or preferred keeping my secrets.

She's the person I trust so much that my own actions intimidate me. They make me question my functioning brain at times. I have genuine trust issue, there's not a spark of doubt to that. However, when she talks to me, I feel understood. I find time to breathe and terminate the suffocating when she sits down to check up on me. It doesn't occur frequently, but when it does, my heart feels profoundly relieved from my stress only for a matter of second. It's never been my intention to let her dive into my personal life, and I don't think that it's ever been her intention to find me crying in the bathroom either. That's pretty much the whole story of how it came about that she's interested in my honest state of mind. But lately I've been lying to her, so it's not worth going deeper into detail with that topic. At least for now.

I avert my line of vision to the refracted sun rays that are shining through the thin glass, enlightening every inch of my room and pervading the atmosphere with something that feels like hope. But the sun always seems to represent bright optimism, doesn't it?

Yeah, what am I supposed to do? It's early in the morning, and merely a few birds are chirping jolly outside, telling the indolent world to realize that the sun has woken from its nightly rest and it's time to make good use of it.

Just as previously mentioned, tons of school assignments are due, but the most important thing for that is missing. My motivation, which died of thirst. The striving for new activities that let my heart rate increase to the maximum, and that excitement that let butterflies arise in the pit of my stomach; I'm missing exactly that.

I sigh audibly and crawl out of bed, shamble over to my closet to grab fresh clothes and get out of the ones that I've been wearing for almost a week by this day. A black hoodie with a white spider web design on the sleeves, millions of hair from my cat Taco sticking to the material, and a matching pair of dark, wide sweatpants along with that.