The room is vacant of motion.
Time stands still. My mouth dries as the breath creeps in, stinging my lungs held so tightly by Asthma. The white walls reflect my mind. The empty spaces reflect the loss. Lost, maybe.
I could be.
I can remember you. I can remember the conversation. I remember the way your eyes locked with mine as I tried to count how many seconds I had been staring. The way the words flowed off your lips effortlessly; a stream of thought and consciousness in search of another’s ears. Looking for anyone to listen. Looking for anyone to care. All I can hear is my breathing. All I can feel is my shaking.
Anxiety has been on hold ever since she called.
And it’s getting hard to ignore her.
Want to submit to this site and share your story, art, or article related to mental health or mental illness? Email email@example.com