Lauren Sanders has been left to start a 'new' normal life with her aunt and cousin after her family died. Everybody knows almost everything except for two things: Lauren's parents' mysterious death and her schizophrenia.
Lauren goes out on a mission...
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Whether you're in some kind of pain or hurting (and that's what sadness does to you), at the moment, music has the power to heal your wounds, temporarily. It offers a feeling of relaxation in any situation. As with someone like me and how my body sinks into anxiety and depression, I have dipped into music with such great intensity. I love how the web of music is entrancing. The way it switches from one pace to another and then leads to a bleak sound.
As I continue to gaze into a part of the emptiness of my beige, flat ceiling, there are countless days when I would like to listen to some music. I like to watch the ceiling fan go round and round, just watching it go before I feel dizzy or stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars at night. I also quite like the warmth of how my own bed never fails to absorb all my salty tears every night and soak them up. The way music does to us is how my bed does to me—it sends me comfort.
It became a habit for me to cry at night or most evenings while listening to music, especially when I think about those memories I had with Elise and mom and dad.
Sometimes, I would think that it seems complicated to find ways to survive my very own nightmare. It's unlikely because I am the only one that stops me from fleeing. I have a choice, but I lack the power to make the determination. I am clouded by these thoughts within my mind and they are the only thing that remains to matter. It is a constant battle between my own thoughts and myself, and living leads to an endless loop of salty tears, every day and every night.
"You can't just lay in your bed, listening to Bee Gees all day. It's time for you to be productive!"
Over my Bluetooth speaker's powerful sound system, I can hear the buzzing sound of Zania's voice. She tossed a pillow squarely into my face, causing me to sit up straight. In much surprise, my eyebrows pull close as I look at her.
"Let's be honest here; productivity is not consistent," I say. Even though I felt like my own bed is beginning to resent my presence for being here for so long yet, I let my body fall back down into my bed.
I can't say that living with my mother's sister, Clarissa, and her daughter, has absolutely changed my life for the better. If crying most days and trying to suck it up, thinking that after two years, you're all better is a change, then I guess I'm living a miserable life with little attempt to try to progress with the use of therapy.
I have profoundly been impacted by the outside world and my success in seeking to change my lifestyle, such as my mental health, is nowhere near to being better.
"It can become consistent if you choose to be productive every day," Zania said in a sing-song tone of voice. "But you wouldn't know that because all you do is lay in your bed and blast your old music."
Zania continues to mutter under her breath but was loud enough for my ears to hear.
I suppose that anyone would prefer to listen to music all day and sleep in their bed all day rather than to go outside and witness people staring at you.
