It’s 2:44 in the morning. I probably won’t sleep for a few more hours.

There’s an open
math textbook and a cup of water on the right side of me, my phone, a calculator, a pencil, and
my math notebook on the left side. Dad already went to bed, which means I’m the last one awake
and I know this is self-destruction and I know I need to sleep and I know this isn’t healthy but
there is quite a lot I can lose here, and I know if I told my mom that she would say that it’s true,
and why didn’t I think of that before I started sleeping until the afternoons and skipping my
schoolwork? And I would say I know, mom, I’ll get right on it, and then set up puzzles to distract
my brain with until the buzzing went away.

Ah, yes, the buzzing. I asked my sister about it this morning—I thought I was going
insane. It’s probably just the wood of the bunk bed settling, but it taps and taps and taps in the
space between my head and the wall and I think I’ll explode before I finally drift away. It’s all
the reminders. The top bunk is my free space, or at least it’s supposed to be. I’m supposed to be
able to throw my phone on the floor and lay up there until sleep drags me away or until I feel
okay again, but the buzzing gets me up there, too. Reminders of everything I’m supposed to be
doing and everything I’ve done wrong.

The refrigerator just buzzed. I don’t know how to spell refrigerator. I used spell check.

This isn’t poetry. This isn’t pretty. This is cutting a hole in my skull and rearranging the
insides but forgetting to clean the pink mess on the table. This is breaking plaster and lime-green
ear plugs. This is forgetting every online meeting today. This is not being able to cry anymore.

Mom, I’m scared. Can we turn the years back? Can I sit in the green-scratchy upholstered
pews? Can I lay down on the tops of your legs? Will you stroke my hair and tell me to hold on
until sacrament’s over?

There isn’t any stained glass in our churches. Why isn’t there any stained glass in our
churches?

Maybe everything is penance for when I was carefree. Maybe everything is penance for
what I’ve done wrong. Maybe everything is penance for what I will do wrong. What have I done
wrong?

It’s 2:56 in the morning. I have a test tomorrow (today) and I’m going to go to sleep (get
back to studying).