It's strange. How hollow I feel. Like there might be echoes inside of me. Like I'm one of those chocolate rabbits they used to sell around Easter, the ones that were nothing more than a sweet shell encapsulating a world of nothing. I'm like that. I encapsulate a world of nothing.

I count everything. Even numbers, odd numbers, multiples of 10. I count the ticks of the clock I count the tocks of the clock I count the lines between the lines on a sheet of paper. I count the broken beats of my heart I count my pulse and my blinks and the number of tries it takes to inhale enough oxygen for my lungs. I stay like this I stand like this I count like this until the feeling stops. Until the tears stop spilling, until my fists stop shaking, until my heart stops aching. There are never enough numbers.

While a part of me wants to know, another part of me is too exhausted to ask.

So I take a deep breath.Step forward.Let go.10 seconds and I'm trying to breathe9And I'm trying to be brave8But the truth is I'm scared out of my mind7And I have no idea what's waiting for me behind that door6And I'm pretty sure I'm going to have a heart attack5But I can't turn back now4Because there it is3The door is right in front of me2All I have to do is knock1Butthe door flies open first.

We've been shattered and reconstructed, told to make an effort every single day to pretend we still function the way we're supposed to. But it's a lie, it's all a lie; every person, place, thing and idea is a lie. I do not function properly. I am nothing more than the consequence of catastrophe.

I lived in a really dark place. I wasn't safe in my own mind. I woke up every morning hoping to die and then spent the rest of the day wondering if maybe I was already dead because I couldn't even tell the difference.