Every day just feels like one endless blur to me, each day passses into the next; a cohesive pattern that bears no semblance of hope. The concept of morning is lost -- gone, nowhere to be found; the harder I search for it, the more it slips through my grasp. The hours fly by, and before I know it, my mind is bewildered by light peeking through the miniscule gaps in my blackout blinds. Teasing me of what exists in the outside world.
My mind is a prison, my room is the cell.
The illusion of balance has shattered, there is no yin and yang, light or dark, morning or night. Time simply does not exist for me in the same manner as it does for @RIPBenny or @McLaughlin86 or even people with overwhelmingly large foreheads. If I "wake up" at 10am, is this my Saturday morning? If I wake up at 5pm every day, can it still be considered my Saturday morning? Morning can be anything, though not entirely through my choice, it's an endless struggle where I desperately look to just grab hold of whatever I can that could represent a bedtime.