

It was 7:30 AM precisely, and the alarm clock on the left side of my bed went off with a gentle but loud chirping noise. It was the only thing that could wake me up, especially on bad days. I did my routine of yawning, slipping off my covers, stretching, and then making my bed. That only took me about 5 minutes, the majority of that time spent on making my bed perfectly. It had to be perfect or my anxiety wouldn't let me continue on with the rest of my schedule. I brushed my teeth with Crest for 5 minutes, working from back to front, and then flossing for another 5 minutes. I showered for exactly 15 minutes, working my way from my face, down to my feet, saving my hair for last. I liked my hair, it was the one thing about me that everyone said was nice. It was about shoulder length, dark brown (currently, I dyed it every month), and semi-curly. People loved to tangle their hands in it, I hated people touching me, but it made them happy, and I loved making people happy. It was now 8:00 AM, it having taken me 5 minutes to dry off and put clothes on after my shower. I walked down the stairs counting each one as I stepped on it. There were 12. Most flights of stairs only had twelve steps, but my old house had 20 steps. I missed my old house. It's been hard getting back on my routine since we moved 2 months ago. My mom did her best to help me acclimate, it was a struggle for the both of us. She bought the same shade of grey paint for my walls so I could wake up and feel like I was still back in Mount Pleasant. But I knew I wasn't in South Carolina anymore. I was in Kansas. Dorothy was right when she said there was no place like home, she just wasn't right about Kansas being home. "12" I said barely above a whisper as my feet hit the floor of our living room/dining room. "Good Morning." My mom said, walking over to me, and hugging me while kissing the top of my head. "Your oatmeal is on the table, don't worry, I didn't make it for you, I just got the box down for you." She said noticing my panicked face. She knew I was the only person who could make my breakfast. Nobody else did it right. They put too much water, and got it too hot. Since today was a first, I had to use my special bowl. Mom made sure it was packed in my bag so I could eat out of it as soon as we got to the new house. I always ate off this special dining set on firsts, my first day of school, my first dance in middle school, the morning of my first therapist's appointment. Always on a first. Today was my first day of high school. My first day of school in a new city. And my first day of being openly gay at a school. That was part of the reason why we had to leave Mount Pleasant. The other part of the reason was everything reminded my mother of Daniel, aka my father. So she asked her work if she could move to another location, far from the haunting images of him. They found a place in Kansas, with a higher position and better pay. How could she say no? I would've felt selfish if I made her stay just because I needed my routine. I began to make my oatmeal, humming a Twenty-One Pilots song. That was the only thing that changed in my daily routine. The music. It constantly shifted to fit my mood. Today it was Truce, by Twenty-One Pilots. I grabbed two packets of maple brown sugar oatmeal, ripped them open at the same time, and poured them into my bowl, all while I was running the sink to get the water warm, but not hot. I stuck the bowl under the faucet and got the perfect amount of water, saturating the oatmeal. I stirred the soon to be contents of my stomach, until it was the right consistency. Looking around I quickly realized something was off and I soon began to whimper, teals welling in my eyes as my heart raced. My medication wasn't on the counter. My medication was always put on the counter next to my oatmeal, along with a glass of almond milk. There was no medication today and there was no almond milk.