• She was literally binging on sleep. Twelve hours, sometimes fourteen. She could get in bed and close her eyes and no matter how many times she promised, alarm calls only came as a slight interruption. She would walk in a dream state across the room and turn it off, gliding expertly through her own space in the dark. This room had been hers forever. She knew the location of everything, all the right places to step. So when she wound up back over by the light switch, debating flipping it on, or just crawling back in, she almost always chose the later. Darkness she knew how to hide in. Darkness meant you were supposed to be asleep, or at least supposed to be alone. Day time frightened her in the summer. How could anyone possibly fill all those empty hours. She watched a lot of movies. So many, in fact, that her own life started to become unreal. All her friends and family became characters, she herself the protagonist. When things made her upset, she just took a step back and the directors took over. If you don’t make your own decisions, eventually someone else will chose for you. She forced herself to say yes to all the invitations, to drag her weak and unconditioned body into someone else’s situations. It was another way of killing time, a way no one really questioned. Teenagers hang out with their friends. Mostly, they either drank or smoked weed. Drinking made her sick, but smoking-well that had sort of become her new thing. Highness in itself posed a challenge. By definition, being high made you awkward and clumsy, but it also made you calm. She liked the calm. She always felt so much more centered, like her focus of the world extended beyond her tiny life. She thought about society and normalcy and how strange it was that there really was a correct way to do absolutely everything. Washing your hands for exactly twenty seconds. Folding your shirts with the sleeves tucked under. Most people did things the fast way, hardly paying attention to their actions. But she wanted to take the time, to perfect every detail. The charmed quality her life had fascinated her. How could so many people be enslaved or abused or starving, while all the world asked of her was to not get arrested. Her responsibilities were so minimal. You’d think she could get out of bed and enjoy all the free time her beautiful life had to offer. But no. She couldn’t do it. The fact was she was lonely and bored and terrified of being lost. Lost in a generation filled with distractions upon distractions to keep anyone from truly examining the quality of their own existence. No one cared about polyphasic sleep or self actualization or even having meaningful conversations. No one except her and a bunch of wack jobs and weirdos as her parents would say. They didn’t want her to be an independent thinker. Her mom would ship her off to rehab faster than you could marijuana if she ever discovered how much fucking weed her daughter smoked on a daily basis. Over Christmas break, in a flash of bravery, she had gotten the most incredible tattoo. It was a window overlooking a lake scene, the purples and mauves of night sky recreated on the back of her neck. She had a hard time explaining the meaning behind it, just because so many people thought the concept too odd to grasp. It was meant to signify leaving through the window. Crawling quietly outside alone to that calming space and no one would even notice. Her parents didn’t know about the tattoo. She wore her hair down every day to cover it, to keep her life aligned in the manner she had become accustomed too. And honestly, although her parents would have cringed at a butterfly on her hip, or a rose on her ankle, they would have gotten over it. But a fucking half open window with an empty lake-well that was just bizarre.

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