I cannot get out of bed
I cannot get out of bed. I am able-bodied and breathing and I cannot get out of bed. I let the weight of the blanket sink me further into my mattress and start to involuntarily hold my breath. I am perfectly healthy, and yet something chemical in my brain has started to weaken my bones. I am absurdly aware of everything around me. I am also absurdly aware of what people like to refer to this feeling as. I do not want to be condemned to a life of therapy and countless bottles of pills, but I cannot get out of bed. The ceiling fan is on high speed, and I can see the day wasting away outside of my window. I can hear dogs barking and children scream-laughing all the way from my third story apartment. I imagine the lives all of these people are living; I wonder if the dogs are getting tired out in the sweltering summer heat, if the children are anxiously anticipating the start of school, if there are other people in this apartment building, who like me, cannot get out of bed. Everything around me stops for a moment, and I use this time to refocus my breathing. As the air fills my lungs, I realize my legs have gone numb. I also realize that if I do not leave this bed soon, I may never leave. That idea instills a terror in me I cannot describe. Suddenly, I have a thought that charges at me with immediate force: "You cannot stay like this." I use that little source of motivation to move my feet around in circular motions. I feel my legs regaining circulation, and know that this cannot be my reality forever, that if I ever want to be one of those people outside, walking my dog and soaking in the heat and scream-laughing, I have to move; quickly, before the chemical imbalance convinces me otherwise. With every force of strength inside of me, I stand up. The act of standing on my own two feet: so simple, and yet I am almost brought to tears. I got out of bed. I got out of bed.
Comments (13)
Wow! I love how powerful this poem is. What a beautiful way of expressing this.
An interesting and unusual array of sensory experiences set to poetic form. Work it!
I loovee the way you structured this!! Incredibly done! Love your poem! 💌❣
I can also relate to this poem sometimes. I hope you're okay☺️.
Wow! This an intense and well-wrought poem, Andrea! I felt it in my bones!
"~~Just a gentle poke in a puffball, please not the button-pushing finger ~~irritation will dissolve through a soft tone of spun sugar, like cotton candy, not hard sour balls" These were my favourite lines. Hope you're doing okay. Sending you lots of love and hugs ❤️
I like the thought of cotton balls as a buffer!
Loved your poem!
Well said… as always! ‘I’m not sorry my words are carefully chosen before spoken ~~ I’m not sorry for shouted words and wide gesticulations must I, to be heard?’ Cotton ball soft words… so much better than hard, harsh ones. I loathe conflict, but sadly, it happens 🥺. Hopefully the air has cleared!
Loved this! The last line was especially cool! ⚽️⚽️
Wow, this is so good! Such a well woven contrast of sweet and seething. I loved the lines/role you crafted with the cotton balls!
And yes, we all need a lesson in anger management. Well-said Andrea, need this today.
Such a great and unique way to shape a thoughtful metaphor! Loved this!