I’m bittersweet when I wake up.


Soft and slow. My voice is on play:
I wake up everyday.
When I suddenly do it’s all harsh and bleak.
My eyelids start to open while my body remains silent. I uncover myself from the sheets of depression in a slow dance with my mind. Everyday.
Surrounded by walking corpses. Talking corpses. Non-stop talking. They shatter the stories I lived while asleep from my memory. They expel them with their voices. With their sharp loud voices.
I begin to wonder where I can buy a piece of silence – for when I stop dreaming.
I imagine I’ll have to die for it.
I’d die for silence (I guess).

Even my window screams, with all the daylight. The harsh light. It tells me to do things:

Dress up! Make breakfast! Be polite and nice to the annoying walking corpses in your house! Take the Bus! Say “Good Morning” to everyone with a smile - even if it’s not a good morning for you; even if they don’t care about you! Go to class! Pay attention! Have good grades! Save your money! Beware of Wolves!… I’m a girl, so I have to be nice and cuddly. I have to be tidy and clean. I have to be a woman. I have to…
At this point I no longer am certain if this is the window talking or if it was me all along.

The air is cold when my feet push it against the wooden floor. I have no socks and feel like Oliver Twist. Only I’m a girl.

I lift my hand so it can open a drawer. My head tilts down and my eyes search for something to wear. Something that matches. Brown and white. Brown and black. Black and white.
I push yet again my feet against the wooden floor – it squeaks while warming. I then raise the volume of the radio playing one of those 80’s electric songs and I feel my lips drawing a smile in my face. Alone, I get warmer.

I obey the window’s screams, so I can just get my dose of silence. My daily need. My addiction.