Backdraft

It’s a lack of sound, a lack of words, a lack of effective communication.

A cesspool of thoughts, emotions and unnerving apathy waiting for the reintroduction of air.

It’s frustration, isolation, and fear.

It’s trying to claw your way out and finding you’ve only managed to dig yourself deeper.

It’s feeling like it’s getting harder to breathe when breathing was the last thing you could actually do without effort. It’s wishing the cliff ceased to exist the moment it was out of view.

It feels like it should be so simple.

I want to wake up before dusk and sleep before daybreak. I want to have the normal, human urge to consume food, instead of a reminder on my phone prompting me to eat. I want to feel less tired and I want to be able to sleep. I want the normal everyday things to feel like normal everyday things, instead of like mountains I’m too exhausted to climb. I want to feel like tomorrow is worth waking up for instead of something I should sleep through. I want the words to come when I’m ready to type them. I want you to understand that it isn’t because of you.

And I don’t want to find the answers resting in the molded chambers of amber plastic.

Is that really too much to ask?

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