How the Birds Sound When I Can't Get Out of Bed in the Morning

I open my eyes and I see the same walls I said goodnight to just two hours ago. The sound of birds outside my door should be the sounds of happy morning, but to me it’s the day that will drag on for only hours to come.

I lay there looking at my phone as the clock says 6:48 a.m. The house is quiet and all I hear is my breathing.

How does one fear the day?

Only to sleep at night.

I pray for dark sky to fall so I can feel OK to lay in my bed for hours without expectations of getting out of the house.

The birds. They seem so happy and so alive. If I could be a bird, I would never land. I would fly and flap my wings and see things, feel things. The wind is endless and the smells are forever. But here in bed, it’s just me and my endless thoughts. Just a year ago I told my family about my depression, thinking it might help lessen the weight of only knowing it myself.

As I linger on this thought of my illness, why can’t I just snap out of it and be happy again. Where did I go wrong? Was it my childhood? Was it the people I let in my life? I shake my head and know it’s no one’s fault.

I want to get out of bed, but I know I’ll just move to the couch and sit there all day and count down the hours until I reach my bed one more time.

This is my life? Why? To go out and see friends and family and live, but this just sends my heart racing and I wipe my eyes.

The birds… they sounds so beautiful.

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