Memoirs

This time last year was one of the worse times I've ever been through. I woke up every morning dreading, the mere fact of waking up. I didn't know how it felt like to live. I had no motivation to, either. Routinely, I'd wake up stare at the ceiling in dismay. I knew that that day would be just like all the rest. I held onto every trace of sleep that I had. My dreams and unconscious state was better than having to go through the day, honestly. I had wished to be able to sleep at all the time. It had never occurred to me that being asleep "all the time" basically meant being dead. Being conscious was just simply that terrible. I figured that when I was sleeping, there would be nothing I'd have to do, nothing that would cause me trouble, nothing would I ruin for others. Things were just that bad. Depressing, isn't it?