Descend

There is something oddly comforting about sitting in a room as it slowly gets dark. Too lethargic to get up and switch any lights on, or rather, not feeling the point in illuminating the corners of this rented apartment, I let darkness creep in. Perhaps it allows us to feel as if we're not really here. My presence doesn't affect this space, let it get darker for all I care. This is what the room would be like if I wasn't here. It feels peaceful, detached, calming. 

Last night I heard voices screaming in my head as I toss and turn at two in the morning. They screamed deafening pleas of panic and frustration, of loss and loneliness. My heart pounded as my breathing got increasingly labored. I was simultaneously freezing and burning, I was both shivering and paralyzed, I was both starving and nauseous. The oppressive silence of the room drills into my skull as I heard myself begin to sob. 

Without thinking, I reached for my phone. The glare of the screen sent piercing stabs into my tear stained eyes. I had already dialed the extension for an international call, but then stopped myself before I hit the green icon.

Deep breaths. 

I lowered my phone back down, fearing what awaited me at the other end. I don't know if the sound of your voice would lift me or plunge me deeper into my apparent lunacy. I don't know if the call would even go through. I don't know if I can still expect you to be available for me at any hour. I don't know if it's right for me to put you in a position where you can only worry from afar. 

It's almost a month. I thought it was supposed to get easier.