The alarm rings.
That chime, you hear it and you want to scream.
But still being half asleep, trying to scream is like climbing mount everest in stilettos.
You crawl to the edge of the bed, eyes closed, feel for the snooze button, and collapse back onto the bed.
This routine repeats 3 more times.

This is the part where the voice comes.
The voice is what really brings you to consciousness.
It yells your name, banging the doors open as you cower in the corner of the pillow.

This is how you begin every day of your life.

When you finally convince the voice that you will be able to get up and get dressed, that you have not suddenly become paralyzed as it must appear you are every morning, you try to convince your body to work with you, maybe just this once, and just GET UP.
The voice isn’t even the one saying it, but they’re starting to sound a bit similar.

You walk hesitantly down to the kitchen, and sitting before you are the biggest challenges of your day. You pour the cereal, the milk, get a spoon. You stare at it, wishing it could end up in your stomach without you having to try. TRY. JUST DO IT. Please. Please just do it. And then there’s the pills. You sit, stare at the clock on the oven, waiting for the voice, the forcing, the yelling. PLEASE. SWALLOW IT. TAKE IT. JUST DO IT BEFORE YOU NO LONGER HAVE A CHOICE. DO IT. DO IT!

And who was that, the voice, or yours?