you're not yourself.
it's an odd feeling. it's as though you're on the outside looking in, a mere spectator of your own life. how are you going to feel in the next instant? act? what are you going to say? do? what will be your first thought the next morning? will it be a good day or a bad day? will you appreciate the sun or curse it when it blinds you? why do your legs seem unable to support you when you take those first steps in the morning? why does your head spin no matter how slowly you raise it from its warm nest of soft sheet? why have you suddenly become terribly afraid of the dark? it closes in on you, heavier than your three blankets and the surrounding silence pulses steadily, deafeningly. or maybe that's the blood rushing in your ears. 'the sound of the ocean.'
i have resorted to migrating to my couch around 3am each morning, falling asleep to the sound of my television on the lowest volume possible, contacts out, blurred vision, utter mindlessness. when that doesn't work i retreat back to my room, clean it, hang up clothes, dust spots i missed the night before. around 5 i crawl back into bed, practically squeezing my eyes shut, willing sleep to wash over me like waves on a shoreline, peacefully sweeping me along with the tidal current, far away, afloat on the dense salt water. when my alarm sounds it seems only a blink's worth of time has passed.
i don't like this, but the alternative isn't any better. in fact it's much much worse.
it has been 5 days. i am not myself.