Gemotions

The cramped, dimly lit room felt like a cage. Michael stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror, barely recognizing the gaunt face staring back. He had been a successful lawyer, now, he was nothing. He reached for his phone, and it vibrated in his hand. “Hey, you wanna meet up? Still going through it? - Dad.” He recoiled, as if burned. He had meant to send a picture of his dog to his best friend.

Michael felt a wave of nausea. His father's words were a reminder of how low he had fallen. *Still going through it.* Like a chronic illness, something he couldn’t shake. The words, "You have not changed," always echoed in his mind.

He quickly closed his eyes, and thought of his dog. Then, the reflection in the mirror changed again, and Michael barely recognized himself. His shoulders slumped, and he felt the familiar pull of despair.