I Sat on My Made Bed and Ruined It on Purpose

Dear Delyara, I had just made it. Pulled the comforter straight, fluffed the pillows, smoothed the corners like I was trying to make the room look like somebody more organized, more rested, more in control lived there. Then I sat down in the middle of it without even taking off my jeans. It sounds ridiculous, but that small act felt emotional. Like I couldn’t stand one more surface pretending calm while I felt this messy inside. So I leaned back on the pillows and let the bed wrinkle under me. Not because I was lazy. Because I was angry. At the day, at the house, at my own performance of composure, at how often I make things look better than they feel. I lay there for five minutes staring at the ceiling fan. Then I got up and fixed the bed again before anyone saw. That, too, felt like my whole life.