I’ve been here for about eight hundred twenty-two days, one hundred seventeen weeks, twenty-seven months. In short, I've been homebound for two years and three months. Between therapist visits, personal trainers, and a personal at-home psychologist, my parents don't want me to leave the house cause they don't think it's safe. They don't want me to leave until they've figured out my ”problem”.

By the way, my problem is that when I fall asleep I do sleep origami. So far I have a paper garden of lotuses on the ground by my large window, a bunch of paper animals on the opposite side next to my bed, 3D stars on the wall behind my bed, paper butterflies covering my desk, a string of paper boats around the circumference of my roof, multiple paper vases filled with different types of paper flowers, and paper feathers littered around my walls, all of which I made in my sleep and have no recollection of.

Personally, I don't see my problem, it's not like the police cases of people who sleep murder. Plus, origami is a beautiful art created around 1603 in Japan mostly for ceremonies and recreation. I remember reading a beautiful poem by Kevin Patrick called Paper Heart. The first few stanzas of the poem stood out to me because I understood it. I'll save you from the whole long poem and just tell you the first part.

Paper Heart

By: Kevin Patrick

I have a paper heart;

it was made with special care

Crafted from a forge,

where a child’s dreams are stored

It was growing from a garden,

where fairytales are pardoned

Were magic is discounted,

to those adults not tax deducted

It was found by chance on an ashen street

Where it was trampled upon by broken feet

A lonely passenger thrown down to malaise

To a sophist whims down a public orphanage

I picked it up, and felt the belly of flame

Which smudge and grim could not drain

Brushed its bruises, and gave its rips kisses

No wounds could impair its ivory strings

I think my heart is also made of paper, so is my brain, maybe my whole body is paper. My whole world is made of paper. My paper haven is my everything and I don't see the problem. I don't feel like leaving my paper haven today even though I have to meet my new personal trainer today. My old trainer was fired for stealing from my parent's three-story mansion.

My father is the governor of Michigan and my mother used to own a boutique. They fell in love when they happened to meet in California. I've been told the story so many times that it makes me sick. I'm not interested in romance, people are like scissors to my paper. The longer you're with someone the more you get cut until all your little pieces get blown away by the wind and the scissors will move on to their next piece of paper.

Anyways, my mother picked this new trainer for me. She thought it would be better to have someone around my age. She told me that he's nineteen, two years older than me. I only stared at her blankly and thought about what I would create tonight. Maybe a new animal, more flowers, I hope it's more paper cherry blossoms, my possibilities are endless. My mother explained that he goes to the school I used to attend before my sleep origami started and that his name is Robin Oberon Adley, an intriguing name but I still wasn’t interested. I don’t remember him from school but to be honest I never cared for people before or after my sleep origami.

As she spoke I folded a piece of paper in half then diagonal and more directions over and over until even my delicate slim fingers couldn't fold the tiny shape anymore. I put the tiny wad of paper next to me and did it again to ore pieces of paper. My mother left when father called her; she skipped off in an anime school-girl-like manner if you know what I mean. I just sat back in my favorite chair in the second story lounge, I never went to the first story, too contaminated from diplomatic parties my father would throw that I would next attend.

Each floor of the house was dedicated to something. The first floor is my parent's room plus the kitchen and master living room, the second floor is where my personal at-home psychologist stays and on the weekends that is where the trainer will also stay. The third floor is all mine, far from people and high up where I feel comfortable. No one dares intruded the solitude of my third floor, I always meet on the second floor if my mother wants to talk or if I want food.

I hear a door open waking me from my thoughts, my psychologist seems to have just woke up. She smiles at me lazily and lounges herself on the couch. She tells me that since I'm meeting my new trainer today we won't have an appointment for the next two days. I nod my head and smile internally, Dr. Veronica York; an unmarried chill psychologist that lets me and only me call her Rony. Her chocolate brown hair is messy and her hazel eyes have bags under them as she stalks down the stairs to make herself breakfast. Once she leaves so do I and return to my floor that overlooks the rest. I open my room door and lay on my bed staring at my paper fathers and stars then start singing a song I made up called Paper Haven.

Paper Haven

By: Aurora Lore

I've got a paper heart

One that can fall apart

With just a simple snip;

like a trigger~

I've got a paper brain

One so complex and insane

Thoughts go around;

like a spinner~

My body is paper

My soul the same too~

I don't see my problem

But I see many in you~

I'll lock myself away in my

Paper Haven~

When I sleep I'll make more friends

They keep me company~

I don't care what you say~

There's nothing wrong with my brain

You don't see the beauty of my

Paper Haven~

When I finished I heard an excited squeal from my mother. I walk out and look over the balcony. My eyes are glued to the most gorgeous and dangerous scissors that came from the outside world. His hair was in a two-tone punk edge mohawk, the top of his hair is dark purple and the sides were black. His skin a beautiful honey color with a tattoo on his right arm. His eyes were a periwinkle blue that sparkled with curiosity. He had a tall frame and lean but muscular build. He was probably a womanizer, the thought made me snap out of my excitement and I flopped on my couch.

I heard their voices chatting, my mother in her high pitch excited tone, my father in a low approving tone, my therapist in her laid back tone, and his voice like honey. But with honey comes bees and I don't want to be stung. Mother told him to settle in on the second floor then wait for me in our indoor exercise court. My mother would have to pull me down there which was the reason he had to wait there.

He started slowly up the stairs, I stood and crossed the staircase into my sanctuary of paper. I could care less if he saw me, I don't like womanizer scissors, I don't want to be another woman for him to cut apart.