breathing slowly through the fog

Maybe if I just close my eyes then it won’t feel so real. At least that’s what I tell myself every morning. As the darkness fogs my insides into puddle, my screams are muffled by the hand that is clenched around my mouth. Will it ever get easier? Some people say that with time it does get better. But I call bull because none of it is true. It doesn’t get easier, the pain just gets numbed and we are forced to push it in the back of our minds to stay alive. Just enough to breathe slowly, holding on to the little sanity we have left.

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