I lie in bed at home, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the day to begin. What brought me to this point was more than the physical or mental need to sleep, what brought me here spanned the entire course of my high school career, a series of blackened days, each one exactly like the one who led me to this place. I guess after waking up about 4 times I should get out of bed, but I feel nauseous at the thought of another day. Here I am seventeen, a time of life when most people always have something to do in the morning, and yet I do my best to sleep through the day. Slowly, I make my way to my ice cream cupboard, 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 treadmill that I could just walk and roll on to get where I need to go. Most of the time, sleeping seems like a less painful way to spend the hours than living. My dreams are my only escape. If I could, I would love to slip, so neatly, into the shoes of one of my friends who surrounds me, smiling. What does it do...