The suffocation of sleep jolts me awake. My eyes adjust to the dark, and slowly face the electronic alarm clock. The numbers exit the blur of morning: 4:59. One minute before the alarm was set to go off. I walked over to the clock on the other side of my room, and hovered my hand over the off button. Half a second after the alarm bursts through the clock, I slam my hand down and shut it up.


It seems my mornings are repetitive, the same thing every day, the same thing since… I turn on the light, and after recovering my moment of blindness I head to the shower cleaning away my sins. I brush my teeth, shave, and I dress myself.


I lay out my small rug, a beautiful design of the Ka’bah stitched into the fabric. Rolling up my pant legs, I pray. Purity runs through my blood like poison. In my prostration, I ask for forgiveness, I ask for an escape from the daily torture I endure.


Anxiety. It pulses through my internal organs, filling my lungs, drowning me in fear. God, I wish this bus would come faster. My hands shake from the adrenaline. The bus turns the corner, and my anxiety compels me to collapse, to fall, but I hold it in, resisting the urge to vomit.


The bus ride was calm, filled with tired voices and bumpy roads, almost relaxing. Almost. But every bump, and every yawn pulls me closer to my shame. Closer, and closer, inching toward my failures and my hatred. Hate. I hate myself, absolutely despise my idiocy and mistakes. There is no turning back now. My mistakes have been made, there’s no fixing them. Just when I think my anxiety can’t peak further, the bus pulls in to the school parking lot. I begin to panic, the fear claws at my chest, looking for escape. But, I only allow my hands the shake discretely.


I get inside the school as fast as I can, avoiding eye contact and conversation. Breakfast. Eating. It’s mechanical now. Take one bite. Chew. Swallow. Drink. Bite. Chew. Swallow. I don’t eat to enjoy the food anymore, I only eat so I can survive. That’s what I do, survive. I only eat enough so that I don’t pass out, or starve. No more. No less. Unbleached cereal bars. Three of them, and milk. The bell. The bells rings it’s annoying tune. Time for class.

Shoot, class.

I grab my things, my binder, laptop, and whatever I need. And I find my seat in the back of the class. Anxiety returns, exiting it’s cave in my heart, and beating it’s drums of fear in my chest. Shoot. Shoot. Shoot. Shoot. And there she was. She walked into class, charisma radiating off her smooth pale skin. Beauty shoots from her star-like eyes. Those eyes. They make contact with mine. Shoot. I put my head down, my face changes to a dark shade of magenta. Shame comes by my side to comfort me, placing a blanket over my cold shoulders. I wish I had the ability to keep my eyes off of her. Her very presence kills me. I’m happy she forgave me, but I know she didn’t forget what I did. Shame. I don’t deserve somebody so forgiving. Shame. I can’t believe I was going to marry her. Shame.

School is only another word for torture to me. What do you do when everything you worked for is destroyed in a weekend of mistakes? What do you do when you run out of things to live for? Two things, you can either start over, or stop living and survive. I can’t start over, I am forced to look at my mistakes every day. So I survive. I ask for forgiveness. I repent. I hate. I fear. I survive.

Four classes and a lunch wave later, the final bell of the day rings. Relief replaces the anxiety that has been coming in and out of its cave all day. Finally, I get on my bus, I pull out my book, and I let the relief wash over me. Thank god today is over. One day closer to being free, and being able to start over.

The bus pulls to a stop at my house. I go upstairs, two flights of stairs, third floor apartment. I go to the bathroom and wash myself, washing away todays sins. I go to my room, lock the door, pull out my rug, and pray. I ask for forgiveness, and freedom from my daily torture. I always ask, I never get it though. I talk to God, I tell him that I understand the toughest battles are given to his strongest soldiers, and I tell him that I’m not strong, that I’m weak, broken and tired. But I continue to suffer. Punished for my mistakes.

I read, pray, homework, videogames, pray, eat, read, and pray. And I look at my clock, 10:00. So I brush my teeth, and I lay in my bed. Closing my eyes, I see her, just out of my grasp. And when we grab each other’s hands, She is pulled away, always out of reach.

The suffocation of sleep jolts me awake. My eyes adjust to the dark, and slowly face the electronic alarm clock. The numbers exit the blur of morning: 4:59.