I wake up disoriented today.
4:43 AM, which is a bit too early for me. So I sit up in bed, leaning on the wall, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. It’s a bit chilly, so I wrap my blanket around my shoulders, tilting my head back and closing my eyes.
I feel distinctly strange.
After a few minutes of being idle, I decide to finally get up. I switch on the lights, squinting as brightness floods the room.
That’s when I notice the stains.
Streaks of dark red on my pillow, on my hands, on my shirt. I feel a familiar sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I know without looking in the mirror that the blood had come from my nose.
I feel dizzy. I haven’t had a nosebleed in months, so it scares me.
I guess I’ve been in denial for a while. I’ve been so happy with my life recently that I was successfully able to ignore the warning signs. The bruising, the extreme fatigue, the unmistakable feeling that something is not quite right. Because, come on. Sleeping three, four times in one day? That’s not normal for me.
I don’t want to do anything today. I just want to stay here in the dark and curl up in a little ball of misery, daydreaming about a certain tall, dark-haired boy with the most amazing voice ever. But I have responsibilities to attend to, so I’ll drag myself out of bed and distract myself instead.
Be okay, Jen.
You’ll be okay.