Gemotions

The small, confined space seemed to amplify the internal turmoil. He’d been struggling to find motivation for anything, the joy of everyday life now distant and foreign. He looked at the floor indicator, willing it to move, but it remained stubbornly still.

His hands were clammy, his palms slick with sweat. He kept clearing his throat, as if trying to dislodge a physical obstruction. His thoughts were a tangled mess, each one feeding the next. He needed something to latch onto, to distract himself from his dark thoughts.

"Well, this is going to be a long one," his coworker, Maria, stated. He couldn't muster a response. The simple act of speaking seemed too hard.