Sometimes I wake up and my hands are fisted and my bones ache from the constant clench and my palms burn in thin crescents that my fingernails create.  And sometimes I wake up and it hurts to breathe and my eyes burn and my lips are cracked and bleeding because I gnaw on them in my sleep.  And sometimes I stay still and pretend that I’m still dreaming because I was happy and I know that when I move my heart will start to hurt again and this thin bed will still feel too big and everything will seem hollow.

But I get up.