I realize I'm awake

It is four in the morning. I open my eyes; I close them back up. I realize I’m awake. I feel the weight of my duvet upon me. I feel the weight of my whole body pressing upon my right hand. I shift. I look towards my curtained window. I observe the faint illumination from the street light beside my house. It takes me a while, but I realize I’m awake. With that realization, comes heaviness. Heaviness, that sprouts inside my heart and quickly pumps throughout my body within less than a minute. Heaviness, that paralyzes me. And I lay still. I lay still on my bed till seven in the morning. I lay still with that heaviness pumping throughout my body. I feel it travel through every artery, every vein of my body. It further makes me realize I’m awake.

With that realization comes anxiety. I am indeed awake: as the birds now outside my window, as the trees that the birds stand on; awake as the earth and the stars are, as the universe ever will be. Yet, I’ll never be what they are. I’ll never be free as the birds are. I’ll never stand tall as the trees will. I won’t live as long as the stars will. I won’t die slow as the universe does. So I question: Am I truly awake? Or am I simply not asleep yet? Am I living? Or am I simply not dead yet? And I panic. And that panic makes me realize, I’m awake.