dahlia solomon

The Evolution of a Bedroom

The hardest part of growing up is watching the dolls in my room be replaced by makeup, jewelry, and piles of homework. I remember how much my bedroom used to excite me. Those four walls felt like a palace where I was the queen. It was my happy place once, but now it’s tainted.

The salmon-colored fuzzy blanket used to fill me with a sense of comfort as it caressed my skin. Now it is stained with ink blots from careless mistakes amidst hours of schoolwork. The pillows used to carry my head through fantastical dreams. Now it cradles my head when I cry, forever sentenced to carry my tears. My bubblegum pink wall used to be the object of my admiration. It has hand-painted fairies and flowers; as a young girl, I thought this painting was comparable to the work of Michelangelo. Now it has a large gaping hole like a big, black pit. It was made by one very aggravated door slam on my part. When the curtains came alive, my childish head thought it was a creature coming to swallow me whole. Now I’m too distracted to even notice the monstrous blow. The princess-like canopy over my bed used to be my veil of protection. Now I beg my Mom to remove it in fear of being labeled a baby.

The sun peaks up from behind my blinds every morning, filling my room with its light. I used to wake up to this and feel pure joy because it signified that it was time for school. Now that light
makes me groan with anguish. The stabbing light pierces my retina instead of illuminating my corneas. The thought of school makes me slink back under the covers like it is my cocoon.

The moon sets from behind the blinds, setting a dark mood in the air. I used to hate seeing this because it meant I had to go into a state of hibernation. I hated to sleep because I loved the feeling of being awake. Now that darkness means a period of rest where my thoughts are silent and the gears of my head can stop turning. I take sleep as a form of medication now.

My comfort place has been polluted by the effects of teenagehood. My bedroom is just another reminder that every day I am losing my grasp on adolescence. As I ascend into adulthood, all I can think about is my past. I want my bedroom to be my place of amenity again. I need that comfort again like a mamma swaddling her baby. I take it all back, every star I wasted on dreams of growing up.