To my blankets

How I miss you

I wake up and it’s just this long stretch of day. It’s like fog. Long. Endless. You think you’ve made it and suddenly— what’s that? More fog, girl. More. Fog.

I don’t want to curse on this platform or in my head, because I kind of love God. I don’t want my mouth to be taken out of the context of my heart. I want to help people, but I need the most help in the room.

I really. Really. Miss my bed. I miss the indent that formed from rotting. Like God pressed his thumb in it and went “There, rest right there,” I miss the warmth. I miss sleep. I miss endless hours of nothingness that I don’t have to be conscious for!

Being awake is overflowing to the brim with questions and no answers. Despair. Thoughts. More thoughts. An overabundance of overthinking. God can’t speak over me and that’s exhausting.

People keep telling me to pray, but my head is not a safe space. It’s an archaic, haunted, library of accusations. The librarian loathes me. She always lets me check out too many darn books! I read through each one and learn more about myself. That. Isn’t. Good.

Most would say I’m depressed, I would say I’m strategic. I know how many hours of the day I can tolerate. How long I can last before my skin melts off. Sleep keeps me from eternal oblivion by being a safe haven. A cryogenic chamber to protect me from time. Withering. Wailing. Time.

When I’m awake, there is weeping and gnashing of teeth. Earth is my hell and heaven is found behind my eyelids. God will need to come back soon, or I’ll meet Him as he opens the door to come in.

I really. Really. Miss my bed.