I lay head heavy on the pillow, drowning in depression and isolation. Pyjamas sticking to my skin, hair pushed back into a Dutch braid, eyes blistered, restless, lack of sleep leaving its mark. The morning sun blinding its way through the window opposite and I cry, I cry out of desperation, out of frustration, out of exhaustion, out of bitterness because the truth seems to be too much. I've lost strength, the body that has no cooperation, I abused that body and now it is abusing me, I can't sweet talk my condition to go away.
But mostly I cry out of guilt, because I struggle to accept I am here. I worry that I am wasting resources, wasting time, wasting a bed. My mind buzzes with restlessness as I squirm in thoughts of worthlessness, those whispers turning up the volume, watching as I wrestle with myself. I lay here hoping these thoughts will drown themselves.
How can I be sure I deserve my place here. I've misplaced that sense of trust. Nauseating guilt hits the back of my throat, Its the theif of night, 3am, nerves rattling, trying to escape the skin that tries desperately hard to hold everything together. Through the darkness of the night, darkness of thoughts, darkness of depression, I cannot find the hope because how can I be sure I deserve my place here.
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