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It was almost one in the afternoon when I had woken up. Normally, I hated waking up anytime after noon, but since my whole ‘breakdown’ my sleep schedule had been off. For a few weeks I was an insomniac and then for the next few weeks I had hypersomnia. I was in a stage of hypersomnia, which had me sleeping early and waking up late, pushing twelve hours of sleep. Every time I woke up I was groggy and had no energy. It sucked.
After waking up extremely late, I would spend my days as a couch potato if I even made it out of bed. I would sit all day on a couch watching TV and movies. I still wasn’t doing anything remotely active and I just didn’t care to. In my head I wanted to, but it was getting the motivation to do so that was the problem. I was hoping that I would slowly die on that couch, and that I would slowly whither away into nothing at all. It was simply wishful thinking.
I had my first therapy session on Tuesday with a Dr. Harris. I wasn’t enthusiastic at all. I was lazily lying on the couch, a blanket wrapped around me and a fat Siamese cat named Riley between my legs. He was completely asleep while making noises and twitching, but I ignored him and wondered if I should take a nap.
The door to the garage opened in the kitchen and I could hear the clacking of my mother’s shoes. Riley instantly perked up and ran towards the door to greet her. He was a lovable and affectionate one for sure. I could hear her putting her things down and giving Riley attention before the shoes made their way to the family room.
My mother, Katrina St. James, stood there with her hands on her hips and her eyebrows raised in question. She was fifty-three years old and didn’t look it; she looked young for her age. She was my exact height and I got my light colored hair from her, while hers was blonde. Her eyes were blue, something I didn’t inherit from her.
“What did you do today?” She asked.
I looked up at her with blank eyes. “Nothing at all,” I grumbled and turned my eyes back to the TV.
“Why don’t you do…something?” She protested.
I narrowed my eyes at her, “what exactly do you expect me to do?”
She threw her hands up in the air in defeat, “anything to get you off the couch.” She then stomped off towards the kitchen.
“I don’t know what exactly you expect me to be doing!” I called after her. I heard her scoff while opening and closing drawers. I knew exactly what she wanted me to be doing and that was working. My parents paid for college and for living expenses and their belief is if I’m not in school, I need to pay for myself. I sighed in defeat, realizing I needed to do it sooner or later and I didn’t like fighting with my mom. “My first therapy session is tomorrow with Dr. Harris, I’ll go job hunting afterwards.” I stated.
“Good,” She paused. “You know you can work for your father, why don’t you call him up and see if he has anything open.”
I sighed and got up, walking to the kitchen. I grabbed a granola bar and scratched Riley’s head as he sat on a stool next to the island. “No offense to dad or anything, but it isn’t exactly fun working for him. It’s really boring office work and I’d rather at least do something more exciting.”
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The Story of Griffin HawkinsGeneral Fiction
Depression's a word typically defined as a condition of general emotional dejection and withdrawal; a sadness greater and more prolonged than justified by a defined reason. It sucks one in for no apparent reason, making one feel a sense of worthless...