On those clear, grey mornings I wake up and I sense the change. I stretch my arms out, hyperaware of the way the scars on my arm pull at the muscle shifting under my skin. Every noise has an echo and my brain sees no reason. The light through the blinds is bright, it shoots patterns onto my skin under the white sheets that I wish were read. My lungs can’t expand and I need to get out. I have to get out. There is no future there is no past, I don’t even know if there’s a now. I force my eyelids up and down, feel the nerves receive my command to move. I hear my mother's voice but I can’t reach her. I don’t know what she’s saying- I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t know myself at all and it becomes just my body on the earth. I am here and I am nowhere. I feel the water on my skin but remain unmoving as it singes my skin. I lose control yet gain focus. The water swirling into the drain turns red but the grey sky turns fragmented with stubborn patches of blue. The pain arises but then I am myself again. A part of me is dark yet the rest is oh so light, not caring about ever coming down. On those clear, grey mornings I wake up and I sense the change. I lose control in order to come alive. It is my secret and my truth. It’s the numbness before the world consumes me. I am alive. I am alive. I am alive.