Today is April first.

These twenty-four hours are meant for practical jokes, games, and fun. A day that is celebrated around the world and brings cheer to whoever participates. Heck, some places even claim that participating in the holiday can bring luck.

It must be nice to be so happy.

I don't know how long I have been lying in bed. Lately, it is almost as if time stands still. The world around me continues to turn, yet I am stuck in my life's repetitive hell.

When I check my phone, I notice it's six thirty in the morning. That confirms that I have been staring at the wall for a whopping five hours.

How is that even possible?

Deep down, I know I need to sleep; my body craves it, but I can't seem to shut my brain off long enough.

My brother has tried to help the best he can, he even purchased me a sound machine, but it does nothing but piss me off. The annoying hum makes my skin crawl and gives me a headache. He also gifted me a weighted blanket, thinking the deep pressure would help to stimulate that oh-so-precious mood-boosting hormone called serotonin.

It hasn't.

Time continues to pass by as I lay in my bed. Every so often, my eyes droop, but sleep never comes. Light makes its way into my room even though the curtains are closed. The sun is determined to show its strength and power by sending rays in my direction.

Even the sun is taunting me.

The sound of my nephew crying causes me to cringe. All I want is some peace and quiet.

I wish I had somewhere else to go, but my options are limited. My parents kicked me out when I decided to take a gap year before attending college. Any time I explained that I was only deferring enrollment, it went in one ear and quickly out the other. I need to be in a better head space and get my feet back on the ground before I can even think about college.

I can't imagine trying to attend class and maintain good grades when the only thing I can focus on is taking my next breath.

Mom and Dad made me feel like trash, an easily disposable piece of garbage that they threw away. Their abandonment only added to my already fragile state and catapulted me into full-blown depression. The only person who has ever truly been there for me is my brother, and without him and his wife, I would be homeless.

Before I can give my parents another thought, the baby's cry turns into an ear-splitting wale. Even though I hear my sister-in-law trying to soothe him, all I can think about is how I could quickly fix the problem.

I could throw him out the window and be done with it.

The thought makes my stomach churn, bile begins to rise up my throat, and I rush to the bathroom across the hall.

I would never hurt him.

It's something I know for a fact, but I can't help but wonder why that thought would pop up in my mind. I love that baby so much, and knowing I have such horrible thoughts hurts me more than anything.

After slamming the door closed, I rush over to the sink to empty the contents of my stomach into the porcelain bowl. With one hand on the counter, I use the sleeve of my free arm to wipe my mouth, not caring about the putrid smell of throw-up left behind.

When I look into the mirror, I silently ask myself if I could ever hurt the people closest to my heart. Deep down, I know I wouldn't, but then why would visions of me inflicting pain on them happen? That question keeps playing over and over in my mind until I come up with the only logical explanation-I am a horrible, dangerous person, and I need to stay away from my nephew.

Tears begin to form as I take in my appearance, and I no longer recognize the person standing in front of me. The color has been drained from my once-glowing skin, and my eyes look sunken with black bags that make me look like a raccoon.

My fingers trace over my hollow cheeks, and the sight causes the first tear to roll down my face.

A knock on the door causes me to jump, and I quickly wipe my face to remove any evidence of my troubles.

"Judy, it's Erica. Are you okay?" My sister-in-law's voice softly comes through the door, laced with worry.

I already know my quivering mouth will make my response unbelievable, but she won't go away if I don't answer. Lacey has been so patient with me, welcoming me into her home and never treating me differently, even in my current disturbed state. "Uh, yeah. I... I'm Fine," I croak out.

"Okay," Lacey says with sadness evident in her one-word answer. Just as I think she has walked away, I hear her sigh. "I made breakfast. Why don't you come down and eat something."

I clench my fits until my palms tingle from the pressure of my nails.

Maybe if I just push a little harder...

"No!" I shout. I quickly fix the volume of my voice and try to sound as calm and collected as possible. "I'm not hungry, Lacey. Thank you, though."

"Aaron hasn't left for work yet, so if you want to join us, we will be downstairs." Baby Jude begins to screech at an ungodly decibel, and my hands snap up to cover my ears.

"I'm fine. Please, just leave me alone."

Jude's crying continues, and all I can think about is killing two birds with one stone by pushing them both down the stairs.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Why am I having these horrible thoughts? I don't understand what is happening to me. My chest becomes tight as I try to take a deep breath, but all that comes out is short pants. Sweat begins to form on my brow from the lack of oxygen.

I press my hand to my sternum and try to focus on my beating heart. The thumping against my fingertips grounds me, even though sometimes I wish it would just give out so I can be free from this hell.

Once again, I try to remind myself that I love my sister-in-law and nephew more than anything, and I would never purposely hurt them. However, if I am having such gruesome thoughts, clearly, I'm capable of harming them. It's best if I stay away from anyone, just in case I finally snap and give into the sickening pictures that flash through my mind.

I don't know what causes more pain, the constant fear of hurting Jude or staying away from the little boy that I want to hug and hold more than anything.

He was named after me and my grandmother, and I can't even be in the same room as him. The old me was so excited to be an aunt, and now I do everything to distance myself from everyone I care about. The fear of injuring them is too much and has taken over my life.

When my heart rate returns to normal, I undo the drawstring on my pajama pants, and they instantly pool at my feet.

My clothes no longer fit. My once curvy body is deteriorating, and I can't find it in me to care.

I'm just not hungry, so what is the point of eating?

I have lost count of how many times I shower a day. It is the one thing that helps keep the demons at bay. When my hand makes contact with the hot water tap, I turn it up as high as it can go, and a cloud of steam fills the bathroom.

As soon as I step in, I tilt my head up and let the stream of water wash over my face. The shower is the only place I feel safe.

It doesn't take long before I sit down and bring my knees to my chest. The sting of the cold shower floor is a welcomed reminder that I still have the ability to feel something other than guilt and disgust. With my head resting on my knees, I try to focus on the stream of water hitting my skin as all the intrusive thoughts wash away and numbness takes over.

I've lost track of time, and knowing how long I sit there is impossible. My fingers have been pruned for a while, and my skin is red from the scalding water. I don't even bother taking the messy bun out of my hair because I can't even remember the last time I brushed it. If I'm being honest, I don't even care. It's not like I'm going anywhere besides back to bed.

With a towel wrapped around my body, I take one final look in the mirror. I don't know what I am looking for, but I am greeted by the same mess that was there when I came in. With a sigh, I leave the bathroom after seeing that I wasn't magically cured.

As I return to my room, my feet pad against the hardwood floor, and I cringe when I look around my sacred space. The floor's a mess of books, water bottles, and clothes littering the floor. I was never like this before, and I can't even remember when there was a shift in my personality. I love order and being clean, but I can't find the will to do anything about it.

I will clean up tomorrow.

The simple thought causes me to let out a dry chuckle because deep down inside, I know that I will definitely not be cleaning anytime soon.

After putting on some clothes, I crawl back into my bed and resume my fetal position. The weighted blanket might not help me sleep, but the pressure of the sand pushing against my body makes me feel like I'm being hugged.

It's nice.

As I stay cuddled up, I try to focus on my breathing while sending a silent prayer that sleep will soon wash over me. I'm so fucking exhausted. I feel like my body is shutting down, and if I don't rest soon, I will completely lose it. I'm tired of living like this. Tired of the fear and tired of being a burden on my brother and his family.

Tears fall to my pillow as dangerous images begin to flood my mind. I'm being sucked down a black hole of despair, and I'm doing everything to claw myself out. Some days, I don't exist, and my bed becomes my casket, shielding me from the living world around me.

Like a train, another thought makes itself known. This one sends chills deep through my skin and down to my bones- I finally understand how people can kill themselves.

Pure terror takes over, and I shoot up from my resting position. I can't seem to take a deep breath as the thought of death consumes me. "AARON!" I scream. The clothes on my body begin to feel tight, like a boa constrictor ready to kill. I claw at the fabric, desperate to remove them so oxygen can return to my lungs. "AARON!"

The door bursts open and almost flies off its hinges. It's as if Aaron didn't even use the handle and decided to just push through the wood like the Kool-Aid man. He scans the room with his eyebrows pulled together until his gaze lands on me. His face falls as I continue to howl like a wolf in pain, and he races over to me before wrapping his strong arms around me.

Aaron begins to rock me back and forth while his hand cradles my head against his chest, holding me like I'm about to slip away. He whispers something in my ear as he pushes hair away from my face, but I can't hear him over my cries.

My throat burns, and my voice is horse as I try my hardest to speak between sobs. "I don't want to die."

Aaron's heart bangs against his chest as his grip around me tightens. He places a kiss on my forehead before whispering, "You're not going to die. I won't allow it."

His words cause a new wave of tears to fall. Aaron has been my fierce protector since the day I was born. I don't know what I did to deserve his never-ending love. The thought of leaving him behind is like a pierce to the heart. "I don't want to die."

Aaron holds me until I let out soft whimpers with no more tears to cry. "I think I need help." The words flow from my lips in a whisper, and I pray he hears my plea for support.