For a period of my life, trauma had me caught in a stasis- not dead, but far from life. Removed from the world, I felt I could rot in bed. In sleep I could escape my body. Beds signified sanctuary while simultaneously eliciting memories of trauma. My flesh felt foreign to me, as if I myself were a festering wound personified. I no longer felt like my own. I was used. I was dirty. I just wanted to sleep.