It happened last night when I tried to fall asleep. The wave of stress fell upon me and sat on my chest, making it so hard to breathe. I tried tossing and turning, only to find that their is no escape, no matter which direction I turn.
Itching to tear this skin as it crushes me under the weight of all this pressure. Soon I will be a miniscule particle in the world that no one will ever miss.
What will my life amount to? How should it be measured? By these endless to-do lists? The breaths I take despite my emotional scars that deface me? By my incomplete thoughts, stories, and poems?
Ashamed by my behavior, yet unable to control it. A damaged complex.
I walk into a cafe, a place I have never been. French roast coffee for comfort as I sit with myself and tell her, "Breathe."
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