Morning

The morning I decided to take the pill was no different than any previous morning. It was just the simple fact that this particular morning I decided I was tired of having mornings in general.

 I was tired of waking up, tired of pulling the covers over my head and quite honestly tired of doing life altogether.

My days, or more importantly, mornings, weren’t always like this. There was a time when I looked in the mirror and saw someone who had purpose. I would sip my Columbian roast slowly, letting the warmth flow through my body. I was eager to start my day. Don’t get me wrong though, waking up is always a little hard. I mean It’s got to be fairly normal to not want to get out of bed. But it can’t be normal to feel like I’d rather not wake up at all.

The morning things changed for me started out like any other day. I turned off the catchy, happy tune streaming from my phone at 6 am. I had a theory that starting my day with a happy sound rather than an annoying alarm would somehow set the pace for a better day. I scrolled through the news feeds of my social media as my eyes adjusted to light streaming in through the blinds. 

But something was off.

I felt it in my head, I felt it in my body, I felt it in my soul. 

You shouldn’t go to work today.  It wasn’t an audible voice but it was a voice nonetheless. It was loud enough to stop me from moving even an inch. 

That was it. It started just like that. A voice in my head. 

When it first happened I struggled to understand what it meant. 

“Everyone has thoughts that sound like voices in their head”,  Ricki said over our lunch that day. 

He didn’t take it seriously. To be honest, neither did I. Does everyone have thoughts, conversations even, in their heads? Of course they do. But how could I explain that this was different? 

I could never have imagined what that little voice would mean for me over the next few months. 

Mornings slowly went from a sweet, happy wake up call streaming through a phone to a jolting nightmare that didn’t end with the coming of morning light.

Morning is where my nightmares began.

When my eyes opened each day the words tore through my mind. No longer a quiet voice but a screaming, violent, overwhelming noise.

Why are you still here? What makes you think you are good enough to be around other people? You are worthless.

I tried to fight the voices away.

 “Leave me alone” I yelled. 

I only succeeded in feeling crazy and in turn believing what the voices were telling me. I was not good enough to be around other people, not in this state.

So I quit my job.

I could no longer face the world. I had no identity. Sleep was the only time I felt safe.

My friends and family were worried, as I knew they would be. Their bright eyed, cheerful, happy go lucky girl was gone. I knew it, even if they didn’t just yet. 

I no longer started my days with cheerful music and warm Columbian roasts.

I dreaded the moment my eyes would open and see the dim light of day glistening through the blinds. I pulled the blankets as tight around my head as possible, trying to drown out the voices in my head. 

I started questioning my own reality. Was it really the voices or was it me? I doubted there were ever voices to begin with.

I am not good enough, I am not worthy of love, I am not supposed to be waking up at all.

My brother came over to save the day one afternoon. I admired him my entire life and actually considered him my best friend. 

That afternoon I looked at him with hate for the first time in my life. 

“You need some help” he said with that kind, nurturing tone I had once loved about him. 

“Oh, so now the doctor has spoken” I spat through gritted teeth.

My brother was indeed a doctor, however at this moment I was in no position to welcome a diagnosis. I could see the hurt and shock in his eyes. I didn’t care.

I was struggling to quiet the voices in my head without him noticing. I wanted to close my eyes and let the darkness come. 

Just do whatever it takes to make him leave. He doesn’t care about you.

At this point I didn’t fight the words I heard. Instead, I gracefully moved with them like wading through a rising tide. I closed my eyes and waited for him to leave.

I heard nothing else during his visit until he stood from where he had been sitting next to me on the bed.

“Just think about it” were the only words I could make out as he shut my apartment door. 

The only thing I thought about anymore were the mornings. 

Mornings that I never wanted to face, mornings that never seemed to stop coming. 

This morning was no different than the past mornings. Another day I had to open my eyes when I wanted to be in the darkness of sleep. I wanted so desperately to feel nothing, or perhaps feel something that I hadn’t felt for what felt like an eternity. 

This morning when I reached over to grab the bulky blanket that darkened the sunlight in my room my eyes focused on a little brown bottle next to the bed. 

I had a foggy memory of my brother sitting it there before he left. I spun the bottle around and saw my name typed in bold print across the side. Under my name I saw the words, take one each morning  on an empty stomach for schizophrenia and paranoia.

Schizophrenia and paranoia. 

While the words swirled in my head I couldn’t stop the feeling of defeat. I knew I couldn’t bear another day, another morning of opening my eyes to this life. 

I reached for the bottle and opened the cap. I placed the pill in my mouth and let it sit for a moment. Feeling the dryness on my tongue. 

Through the voices in my head I heard a soft sound, one that I hadn’t heard for what seemed like a lifetime. 

My voice.

I am smart, I am strong, and I am worthy of living. 

As the pill slowly slid down my throat I closed my eyes, and smiled. 

This morning would be different after all.