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When Depression Means You're Rarely Really Awake
Do we open our eyes first, or wake up? The difference seems important to me, somehow, on harsh mornings like this, with heat and light pressing down through the plastic blinds of my bedroom window, casting bars across my face. I turn from the severe light, writhing, my arms and legs in a tangle of cheap cotton sheets slick with sweat. There is nothing to fear in my own room, there isn’t any reason in it; I shouldn’t be tired after a night’s sleep. I shouldn’t be sad about a new day.