I Keep Waking Up

cw: trauma

And then I wake up…

cw: trauma

By Rosa Decker

Spoiled rotten. Close-minded. Happy, even.

And then I wake up.

In the hallways during passing period, unable to stand.  On my bedroom floor in my mother’s arms.  On the linoleum dorm room floor, unsure of the month.  In the cafeteria surrounded by strangers.  On the cement in a parking lot with unresponsive stoners. Alone in the shower, head pounding.   In the bathroom, naked, blood everywhere.

I can’t tell the paramedics my birthday. But I can tell them my mothers. I struggle to find words that I will later forget. There are more tears in my mouth than words.

And then I stand.

I see things more clearly now that the tears have dried.  I sympathize for those whom I previously judged. I take others feelings into consideration. I grasp the idea that people have challenges like mine. People have struggles much worse. What are they waking up from? Can they wake up?

Eventually I revert to a life of leisure. I float rivers with friends and family. I vacation to Mexico and Guatemala.   I lose touch with the feeling of waking up.

And then I wake up.

They don’t understand the shakes. Neither do I. It’s a blessing and a curse.  But I try to grasp the brains with the scars. Mine and yours.

I’m still waking up.

Will I ever be completely awake?

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