Unmanned and Unmanaged

I’m lying in my bed, covered by a blanket my grandmother made me. The sheets are red, the dog is next to me and I hear nothing by the frantic beat of my heart telling me that I’m unworthy of that phone call.

My teeth are unwillingly clenched and my stomach is in knots. I’m suddenly exhausted. All I want to do is go to sleep and forget about my disappointment. Maybe when I wake up it will be a fading memory. Perhaps this isn’t even really happening. No, I’ve done this to myself again, and now I lay here battling the monster that is clawing my belly from the inside out.

This is exactly the situation I try to avoid. This is why I don’t move outside of my comfort zone. The desperation, like the rings of Dante’s Inferno, start squeezing. First my toes go numb, then my legs, then my hips and stomach. The evil snake has spiraled up to my heart now, and the fist-shaped muscle cramps, dying a little more with each clench.

It won’t get any farther up my body. It doesn’t need to. Kill the heart and you kill the soul. The body is useless with a dead soul. And the spirit cannot escape the ravaging throes of asphyxiation. It will die soon, too, because the invisible cannot sustain through the hopeless. It will be over soon.

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