Breathe

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I try to wipe the sleep from my eyes, but it lingers despite my best efforts. Every muscle in my body cries out for rest, as if I hadn't slept in days. In truth, sleeping is what I've been best at lately. Every inch of my body feels like lead as I roll myself out of bed. I struggle to find purpose in my movements.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I set my brain to cruise control. There's work to be done, and life doesn't care if I'm crippled by anxiety or drowning in depression. Life carries on and expects me to do the same. It's harder than it sounds.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I feel like my mind is a tangled ball of yarn. The more I try to unravel and straighten it out, the more it ends up a jumbled, knotted mess. Can't think. Can't focus. Can't...live.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

My chest feels heavy. My breathing, labored as I fight this feeling of suffocation. I know I'm not suffocating, but it doesn't help ease the heaviness in my chest. I feel like I might forget to breathe if I don't remind myself.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

In this moment, it takes all my focus - all my energy - just to exist. In this moment, I am capable of no more than that. I exist. For now, that's enough. It has to be. Just enough is all I've got.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I fall into bed, exhausted from the work of existing. My body is quickly silenced, but my mind won't go quietly. So I lay in bed, hoping for sleep while my brain plays back for me every mistake I've made, every inadequacy, every shortcoming until I'm too exhausted to care anymore.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Wake up.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Start again.

Breathe in.
...
Breathe out.