Gemotions

The days were a blur of obligations and routines, each a chore. The simple act of smiling felt like a monumental effort. Her apartment was spotless, a testament to her need for control, but it held no comfort.

She was at a support group, mandated by her therapist. The room was stuffy. The usual niceties felt hollow. She was the last to arrive, and took the final empty seat. A woman sitting next to her paused, her fingers fluttering nervously in her lap.

"It's just… so exhausting, isn't it?" the woman said, her voice barely a whisper. The question wasn't of interest. But the gesture of the person asking it was.