Minor Comforts

Once again, I am sick. By day I lie in bed, barking like a dog, delusional in the mornings, week and tired during the day. I sleep and I sleep and I sleep. I haven't the energy to do much of anything and it sickens me, I can't stand to stay bed-ridden, which is why I am typing this. Luckily, though I can't stand for long without getting lightheaded, I can sit without more than mild discomfort. At night I have trouble sleeping, I wake every half hour from feverish dreams, believing for minutes that they were actually real. When I finally do come out of it I begin to wish that the demons of my dreams would take me away from all of this, but I've had no such luck. I believe it's this place that does this to me. Trapped in this house on a mountain within the woods, I can come and go into the forest as I please, you'd think I'd love it. Unfortunately, I don't. You see, it's not really a wilderness out here anymore, it no longer holds its splendor. The air is thick with chemicals and who knows what else, the water, no longer pure, but tainted, so much so that no one dares drink it. The trees and plants of the forest have tried in vain to cleanse the air and water, but their efforts have failed, they've been filled with the pollutants to the point that they have become dark and crooked, their limbs bend, nearly touching the ground as they fight to stay upright. They have become something different from trees, I can almost hear their pain. Though I have found friends here, I've fallen back into depression and sickness, only a choice few of them are able to bring me out of it on occasion. Last night it seems, my sister's cat got sick of this place too...all over the foot of my bed. I woke when I happened to put my foot in the stuff, and it turned out it was early morning. My mother was getting ready for work, and, as always, I heard her arguing with my step-father. Of course, it was about me. He wanted me to get up out of bed, quit sleeping all day, and start cleaning the house. The reason, she was asking him to do the dishes. He should never be asked to do such HARD work, so it must be my fault. When I got sick of the yelling I turned on my stereo and hugged my body pillow, pretending it was James...a newfound love of mine. He's come to be one of the minor comforts that help me through my life. Somehow I always manage to find them. Though I cried myself to sleep last night I slept soundly for once, troubled by no bad dreams. Sometimes I think that someone, something, up there smiles at me every once in a while, begging I forgive them for this life I've been dealt...