I'm lying in bed in my house staring at the ceiling waiting for the day to begin. What brought me to this point was more than the physical or mental need for sleep, what brought me here spanned the course of my high school career, a series of dark days, each exactly the same as the one before it that brought me brought to this place. I suppose after waking up about 4 times I should get out of bed, but I feel nauseous at the prospect of another day. Here I am, seventeen years old, a time in life where most people always have something to do in the morning, yet I try my best to sleep all day. I slowly move toward my mirrored closet feeling like I'm walking through Jell-O, each step a deliberate effort, even though my body is young and healthy. I often wish that life came with a conveyor belt that I could just hop on and ride to get where I needed to go. Most days sleeping seems like a less painful way to spend the hours than living. My dreams are my only escape. If I could, I would like, so neatly, to put myself in the shoes of one of my friends who surrounds me smiling. What it feels like?...