I’ve barely left my bed in the last 24 hours. I only get up to go to the bathroom. This morning, I tricked myself into getting dressed: a bra, clean underwear, pants, a shirt. I hoped fresh clothes would catalyze the reaction. The activation energy is still too high for my meager supply.
The noise outside my window irks me like everything else does. I don’t shut the window because I want to stay connected with the universe that expands outside my dorm room. Or I’m too lazy. Comfort in discomfort.
I know there is work to be done, reports to be written, bibliographies to be assembled. My sheets cradle me like a spider’s web. The threat lies in how benign it seems. Inaction siphons away my blood.
I don’t want food or water, gifts or pleasant words. I want company. I want someone to crawl into bed beside me and to stroke my hair until this mood passes. I want someone to trace pictures on my back to remind me that I exist. I want this lonely paralysis to end.