Midnight Musings: Proses and Poetry

7

When it feels like being awake is already a torment

I wake up to the sound of my heavy breathing. It's like a weight is crushing my chest, suffocating me. The room is pitch black, and I can feel the darkness closing in around me. I don't want to move, but I know I have to.

As I slowly get out of bed, the panic sets in. My heart is racing, my palms are sweating, and my mind is a blur of thoughts. I try to focus, but everything is too much. It's like a never-ending spiral, pulling me deeper into the darkness.

I stumble over to my canvas, my hands shaking as I pick up the brush. I can feel the anxiety building inside me, like a pressure cooker ready to explode. I start to paint, but it's like my hands have a mind of their own. The colors are all wrong, the lines are crooked. It's like I'm watching someone else paint, not me.

And then the attack hits me like a ton of bricks. My chest tightens, my vision blurs, and I can't breathe. The darkness is all-consuming, and I feel like I'm drowning in it. I collapse onto the floor, tears streaming down my face.

I don't know how long I lay there, lost in my mind. The depression has taken over, and I'm powerless to fight it. It's like a living thing inside me, a monster that feeds on my pain and sadness.

Eventually, I drag myself back to my feet. I know that I have to keep going, even though everything inside me is screaming to give up. I pick up my brush and start to paint again, hoping that somehow, this will be the thing that saves me.

But I know the truth. The darkness is always there, lurking just beneath the surface. And one day, it will consume me completely.

— Sterling Frost