I remember the mornings where the light hitting the blinds felt like a personal insult, a betrayal of the darkness I was trying so hard to stay in. The mornings now, the light feels like a gift, a promise. But I remember that visceral clench, the pure RAGE at the sun daring to rise, exposing everything I was trying to hide, even from myself. It wasn't just sadness; it was a profound anger at the world for continuing when mine had stopped. There were so many mornings I just wanted to pull the covers up over my head and disappear, to somehow will the day to just NOT happen, to cancel itself. The sound of birds chirping felt like a mockery, a cruel joke that life was carrying on, vibrant and alive, while I was just…existing, barely. The mornings now, I can actually appreciate the quiet before the day fully starts, a rare moment of peace I used to dread because it meant the onslaught was coming. It's strange, how a once-threatening silence can become a comfort, a space to just…be, before the armor has to go back on. It's wild to think about how much I used to fight against waking up, almost physically resisting the transition from sleep to 'awake'. Now, sometimes I just lie there for a bit, no panic, no dread, just… waiting for my body to decide it's ready, and that feeling alone is a goddamn miracle.