I am surrounded by a darkness that presses on me from all sides while I slowly implode. No, implode sounds too explosive—I crumble. With each text message I type out, each elevator button I press, each word I say, every step I take, I am crumbling.
I feel myself become hollow, like a cave. My thoughts echo inside me.
I no longer have all these diagnoses; I have become them. They are all my thoughts.
I feel really bad, I type, immediately regretting it. I know he’ll only feel guilty and I’ll just have to pretend I don’t need him by my side. ♦