A single space can accommodate so many emotions and thoughts, but also provide comfort and alleviation at many states of distress. A bed is for sleeping, but it’s utility surpasses the practical and it extends itself as a place where most of us lie awake, our minds going to the places we’ve been or have yet to go. Catering a breathable atmosphere to a fluctuating life while it redefines realness, one thought, one memory one dream at a time.
When our eyes open, they adjust to a familiar scene while the mind lingers in a world built of dreams. These days, familiar emotions grasp the throat, and make me wish I could reverse a reality that feels like a curse. “The new normal” feels like a stump in my personal progress, and the days blur together. Waking up is a chore when the walls are sticky with sadness and a sluggishness.
The image of my hunched body on the bed, with my eyes locked on the ambiguous space is all too familiar, yet my shoulders carry a different weight this June morning. The momentary breath of relief didn’t last. The Supreme Court ruling from the day before now seems like another momentary pause as I continue to scroll through my phone.
The words fly up the screen,
with the pounding
in my chest.
He says he hasn’t lost, that we haven’t won, and he promises to submit the paperwork they asked for to ensure DACA’s termination. The blatant promise of attack makes my vision swirl. My cheeks, sizzling with heat. There seems to be an alarm blaring in my head, and my eyes are jumping from word to word and back again, trying and failing to read, to comprehend the rest of the news article. Suppressed anxieties and feelings bubble up and grip me down. The dreams I have cultivated flash before my eyes. The roots feel like they’re in his hands, not my own. In the hands of nine judges, but not my own.
I let the panic last for a minute before I turn the phone off, rendering the screen black. I close my eyes and begin a process of forgetting. As I banish this part of my identity to the depths of my mind, I spread my palm on the bed. I invite myself to feel the softness of the quilt. To stay grounded in this moment. To stay away from the future, fogged from my questions and fears. I force my mind to match the blackness of my sight, brushing away my thoughts while my fingertips brush along stitches and bumps. The heels of my feet push down on the piece of wood that keeps the mattress in place, and when I open my eyes I press down harder. I squeeze the mattress, feeling the quilt one last time before I let go to stand up. I slide my phone under my pillow and turn around to lean against the side of the mattress that’s laid up high, my mind instantly shuffling through a multitude of thoughts with varying volumes that come and go like cars. They’re like soft mumblings that get louder as I dig deeper and hush as I push them aside to be collected with the parts of me I don’t let myself think about throughout the day.