Gemotions

He stared at the ceiling, the familiar patterns of water stains blurring. He hadn't shaved in days, and his stubble prickled against his palm when he idly rubbed his face. The email notification was a constant reminder of the life he was failing to lead. Sunlight streamed through a gap in the blinds, illuminating dust motes that danced mocking jigs.

The novel had been his everything. A universe he'd built brick by agonizing brick. Now it was just a collection of digital words, dead and unloved. He rolled over, pulling the duvet over his head, shutting out the world. The world felt too bright, too loud. It seemed cruel.

He considered getting out of bed, maybe showering, but the effort felt insurmountable. Each movement required an exertion of will he simply didn't possess. The thought of facing the day, the people, the expectations, was a crushing weight. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of nothingness.