Shadows and Stars

Life Is An Endless Game

Shutters of light flicker through my eyelids dancing among the red hue that is the curtain between my sight and the world. I roll over and pull my duvet closer to me as if that would protect me from reality or push the inevitable rise of morning away or something stupid like that. Just as my eyes rest once more and I am nearly engulfed in the sweet surrender of sleep once more, a harsh obnoxious tone cuts through the silence.

Fuck. The. Alarm.

Honestly whoever invented waking up at all was a right old selfish prick. I groan and slowly roll over flailing my arm towards the sound. It eventually stops. Instead of rising out of bed like a slightly tired young disappointed teenager wishing the day was further away but also kind of looking forward to seeing their friends and talking about nothing at school, I flopped my arm under the pillow, slowly opened my eyes and stared into the nothingness in front of me. My expression almost as blank as the wall itself being penetrated by my cold gaze.

I couldn't have felt more empty if I tried. I was stuck in a state of the absence of anything, the fullness of nothing. Moving from my cocoon of warmth and safety seemed impossible. It was like getting up and functioning would only make the day ahead more real, and I wanted to push that day away as far as I could. Frustrated with myself I think about everything I should be doing. My face needed washing. I hadn't done that in weeks. My room needed tidying. I hadn't done that in months. My mood needed lifting. It hadn't done that in years. It was like an impossible circle of endless lack of motivation and despite my deepest logic I couldn't make myself do any of it.

"Bailey are you up? It's time to get up Bailey!" My mothers voice pierced the silence, joining in the chiming of my alarm and making my heart shrivel up within my chest. This isn't fair, I don't feel well. I don't want to go. I don't want to work. I'm aware I sound like a five year old having a tantrum about going to school but I don't care because the heaviness is too much for me. So I wait. I wait until twenty minutes before I have to be there, and at the twenty minute mark I push myself up slowly, detaching myself from the bed and swinging my feet of the bed letting them sway to a beat of depression and hearing my heart thump to a rhythm of apathy. I don't know if I could care less about anything.

The pure fact that nobody else understand this weight and therefore would only yell harsh words of "lazy! Useless! Stupid!" At me pulls me towards my mirror and the crumpled up uniform sitting limp on my bedroom floor. I scoop up the unwashed and un-ironed mess I call my attire and throw it on my bed. Looking up at my reflection I think. Fuck. I look like shit. I don't mean oh I don't think I'm attractive enough for society's expectations and therefore deem myself not good enough. I mean I look like shit.

Hair tangled as a result of not washing it for six days, face pale and gaunt as a result of hiding from the sun and forgetting to do simple tasks such as eat or drink, eyes surrounded by a black mass as a result of lack of sleep and not bothering to wipe away the makeup I cried off a week ago. I could go on but I have ten minutes until I have to leave for school. Ruffling my hair a little and licking my finger to wipe away the black smudges I clamber into my uniform and sit on the floor ready to pack my bag.

I remember those days when I used to actually pack the correct books one by one instead of picking up five and hoping they were the right ones. Those were the same days I bothered showering and making myself look presentable and...yes. Those days.

I pulled myself up, something I have been doing a lot as you can see, and drag my feet down the hall. My parents are so happy but all I want to do is get out of the door so I don't have to hear anyone talk or attempt to communicate with me. Giving them a quick hug, shoving my lunch and water in my bag and making the same excuse I have been for four months now "I don't have time for breakfast I'm running late" I exit the house and pull out my headphones.

The tangled mess of wires could be the most accurate metaphor for my life I have ever seen. That's just the kind of person I am. Constantly making connections between the worst of the world and myself. But I guess that's just how depression works.

Yea. I'm Bailey. And if you haven't guessed already. I have depression.