Every night, when the rest of the world winds down, I clock in. While people slip into dreams and warmth and quiet, I walk into fluorescence and hum and demand. I don't remember what it feels like to sleep when it's dark.

"Am I weak?"

My body is tired in a way that no amount of rest seems to fix, and my mind - my mind feels like it's been pacing in the same locked room for months. I come home when the sun is already shining, when life outside has already started without me, and I try to convince my body to sleep. I lie in bed while light pours through the blinds like an accusation. I fall asleep, maybe, and if I do, it's never enough.

I should be ok- I am ok- I am Lucky

My heart races when I should be calm. My head pounds when I should be dreaming. I wake up not knowing what day it is as 12pm to 12am doesn't cut it for me. People say I seem fine, even she does, and maybe I've just become really good at pretending. But inside, I feel manic, like my soul is sprinting through molasses. I stay up for days without trying to every week and lie to myself that I found rest. I beg my body for peace, but it denies me. I don't tell her. I should.

8 months- I am weak

When I finally have a moment to just be with the person I love, she wants me to rest beside her, to be her partner in quiet - but my body won't allow it, and my silence is taken for distance. Sleep does not feel real to me anymore. I do not blame her and I, one person in my head is beside her and rests but the others are footsteps echoing in an empty hallway.

I own the hallways alone

I get hollow. And I can't find the words to tell her it's not her, it's never her. It's the job-shhhh I'm lucky remember. It's the hours right? It's the way I've become invisible to the world that lives in daylight. My face is worth nothing.

I did this to myself-

I hear people complain about waking up for work, about their coffee being cold or their commute being long, and it makes something violent rise in me. Something sharp. Because I would give anything - *anything* - to work in the sun, to sleep at night, to have just one morning that feels real. What is that?

The halls are full of my foot steps, paint colors, fluorescent buzzing, the feeling of someone behind me that is never there. I stopped looking over my shoulder months ago. No one is there don't worry.

I would give anything-

The morning with her, making our coffee and one day taking the kids to school.

I live for her. I pay for us. I keep the lights on. And I do it with a smile that I've learned to fake better than anything else. I am happy. I am weak. I complain too much. Yet I am happy- truly I am happy.

But inside, I'm unraveling. Inside, I'm still waiting to wake up.

When will I catch my light?