Gemotions

The weight of the duvet felt like a physical burden pressing down on his chest. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the familiar patterns of the plaster mocking him with their predictability. Each breath felt labored, the air thick with a sense of failure. He was trapped in a vortex of negative self-assessment.

His phone buzzed on the bedside table, a text from a friend asking how things were going. He ignored it. He didn't want to explain. He couldn't explain. How could he articulate the hollowness that had swallowed him whole, the feeling that he was falling endlessly into a dark abyss?

The thought of facing the day, of pretending to be okay, sent a wave of nausea washing over him. He closed his eyes, willing sleep to come, hoping it would offer a temporary reprieve.