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As my eyes open and the side of my dresser blurrily comes into vision, the weight of my feelings clogs each cavity in my body. It is not everyday I wake up feeling this way. I sigh, disappointed that sleep had not rejuvenated me. Had not cleansed my skin of that thick, burning sensation, or escaped my heart from the walls closing in on it. Instead, last night blended into this morning as paint blends into a canvas. Easily, simply, quickly. It was as if time had not moved, or just one small minute had passed before awakening to a heap of myself. Sweating and lightheaded, I mustered the strength to throw my white comforter off of me and get up. I moved to the bathroom mirror, swaying as if I were a drunken mess. Looking into my own eyes, I almost cried. Weren’t we passed this? The question felt like a slap in the face, a joke I did not understand. I am always putting my life in the hands of whoever will hold it. I worry that they are holding it too tight, or too loose, rendering myself oblivious to the moment it slips out of their hands. My life plummets onto the cold hard ground, splattered over the cement, staring up at me with cold eyes and an unapologetic smirk. I scoop it up, placing it in my own hands once again. Hoping I’ll learn not to spill the whole of me into someone.