Heaviness of the heart.
Head feels like it's full of lead. Cotton. Stuffed.
Body feels pressured. Like sandbags replace my organs. Poison makes my movements slow; running through my veins.
Pressure on my chest. I don't want to move. Talk. Do anything.
Eyelids drooping, but I'm tired from the medicine.
Eyes are unfocused. Glazed. Seeing but not comprehending.
Living but not participating.
Breaths are counted.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
They're heavier. Deeper. They burn my throat when I suck the air in.
Perhaps the cotton slid into my throat as well.
Listening to Christmas music.
It's jolly.
I feel nothing of the kind.
I'm sorry.
-D.
*This is an old note.*
YOU ARE READING
No More Hiding
Non-FictionWhat's the point in hiding the truth? TRIGGER WARNING: -EATING DISORDERS. -DEPRESSION. -SELF-HARM. -SUICIDE. -ANXIETY. -HEARTBREAK. -ASSAULT. IF YOU FIND YOURSELF SENSITIVE OR EASILY TRIGGERED BY ANY OF THIS CONTENT, PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE. You have...
