adfe66d8f9b77501c5cf7c67765102bb.jpg**I feel like I need to add for my friends and family’s sake, this is a work of fiction. I’m just wrintg a story*

Most people would consider sleeping in a well-deserved treat; it is an extra hour of pure bliss they are able to enjoy after working long hours as a business professional. These people get to smile as the sun light begins to peak through their blinds, twist their bodies back up into their sheets, then close their eyes for a round two snooze.  This extra hour is much savored and often ends in a perfectly well rested body and soul.

For me, sleeping in is a coping device- one that isn’t working too well for that matter.

I’m not sure when it began, or why, but at some point in my life my brain decided that it wanted to be broken… that the adult world was too much for a weak person like me to handle. I started to become overwhelmed at the thought of going back to school, was paralyzed by the thought of figuring out my taxes… My brain didn’t want me to figure out a budget, maintain healthy relationships, or even go to work. My brain just wanted me to hide.

So I’m hiding, just like it says I need to. I’m lying in my messy bed with my greasy hair and I am hiding.

I don’t like it when people tell me that I have depression, it can see their looks of disgust when they say it. The word “depression” comes across their lips with a bit of a snarl, as if saying the word itself is below them. The cast down look on their face tells me that I need to “get over myself,” that “Its time I grow up and start acting like an adult.” The worst is when they shake their heads at me and sigh, “it’s like you aren’t even trying…” I hate the word depression. I’m not depressed, I’m broken. My brain doesn’t work like normal brains are supposed to.

My brain is broken and doesn’t want me to handle things. I was not made to be as successful as the people I went to school with. My brain doesn’t let me succeed in work place situations, to let me feel safe when I am away from home. I don’t know why my brain tells me that I will never be good enough, why it makes me scared of trying to be more than I already am. When I see people play outside with their children, my brain tells me to despair because I will never have that. When it is a pretty day and the pups want to go outside and play, my brain tells me not to go, that I don’t deserve to be out in the world. My brain says that I don’t deserve to treat my body well, that I don’t need to exercise or eat well… to eat at all, really.

I was normal once. I thrived in school, I had many friends, I treasured the time I spent outside, I was healthy… It is my deepest desire to be normal again, for my brain to fix itself and for me to go on like I once did. If I could be normal again, I would get out of bed and wash my sheets. I would shower and fix my hair into a loopy, curly bun and perhaps put on a coat of lip gloss. I would open my windows and a bottle of wine. I would meet people and they would find me interesting. The pups and I would walk outside and pick the dandelions as we stroll. I would be a better significant other, supporting my love and surprising him with the occasional dinner and gift. I would gladly tackle my taxes and budget, working hard to save money, yet maintain a comfortable life. On the days I sleep in, it is because I deserve another hour or so, because I have been so productive and positive throughout the week that it only seems reasonable that I reward myself by hitting the snooze button.

But today, I am sleeping in. I am coping with a life that I don’t want by pulling a pillow over my messy head, trying my best to hide from my broken brain that feeds me deceptions… or facts, I honestly cannot tell the difference anymore.

But my broken brain never stops talking.

 

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Justice Kennedy’s Poetic Words

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