Morning Bliss (on depression)

Any day, morning time. The alarm goes off,  but you have already been wide awake for the past hour or so after a semi-insomniac night. It’s just signaling you to be up on your feet to get ready for another extra-ordinary (mega-ordinary) day. You snooze it for another five minutes of extended nothingness and close your eyes, hoping to find a moment of peace. All you get is what you got for the past hour: A feeling of indescribable and escalating uneasiness. Then,  the alarm goes off again wailing like a digital banshee. Your last warning to delve into the heart of boredom once more.
The bathroom mirror reflects a withered soul. You practise a conscise eternity to force a smile which should have been mastered after so many tries. You stare at the bath tub and think why bother. It’s just another day that the impurity of your soul will match your filthy body. You give out an unexpected smile;  a natural one.
The habitual morning coffee tastes horrid as usual. Your sense of taste had abandoned you along with your spirit ages ago. Breakfast! The eggs taste as they have just come out of a chicken’s ass: tasting like shit, as if summarizing how you’ve been feeling for as long as you can remember. Thinking of shit, you rush to the toilet seat and spend some time regulating your intestines. You smile again. Perhaps the only thing that never changes is your bowel moment. You realize you are no more human. You’re more like a machine that carries out the simplistic procedures to keep you alive.

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