The klaxon rattles the mattress and my brain alike. My eyes open to flashing lights. Christ. What horror! It’s sickening, hideous, and hard to believe I consent to it every morning. I can’t imagine a more sadistic way to start a day. This is no life, yet it’s the one I made. And on the other side of the blanket it’s cold. The cursed alarm.
And I need all the reasons I can find not to hate myself. But it’s hard. Even the idea makes me shiver. Because I see loving myself like looking down on others. Riding around on a high horse. And I never want to think I’m better then the people I see on the street. The ones who have it rough. The ones who don’t fit in. The ones I see my own face in.
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