There are moments in life that feel like a weight is sitting on your chest. I remember one recently, a particular low point where the world felt a little too loud, a little too much. It was one of those days, when I logged off from work, the chaos that had been quietly building in my head finally erupted. A suffocating heaviness settled on my chest, conquering my limbs. I could feel my bed, calling out to cradle the sheer weight of my exhaustion and emptiness.
After a restless nap, I finally found the energy to get out of bed. I took a bath and then returned to the warmth of my sheets. I turned off the lights, the familiar click echoing in the quiet room, leaving only the low, soothing sound of AC’s hum and the soft, deep exhales of my dog, Miwo. Wrapped in my zebra-striped blanket, a weary breath escaped me, watching a sliver of light bravely fighting its way through the closed curtains.
My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, a chaotic dance of “what ifs” and “whys.” The weight of it all was unbearable. I felt the familiar heat and press of tears behind my eyes, but they wouldn’t fall. They just stayed, a silent testament to the heaviness in my heart.
At times, my first instinct was to reach out to someone, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. A small voice at the back of my head would immediately jump forward, whispering small words of discouragement from doing so. Then, waves of doubts would conquer me, thinking I’d be a bother. That they were probably already wiped out after their own long day.
So, I didn’t. I just sat there and let myself feel it all. I faced the storm within, not running from it, but letting it wash over me. To tell you how it honestly felt, it’s like being abandoned in the middle of the deep blue sea. The shore was a forgotten myth, completely out of sight. Though I possessed the skill to swim, though I was trained for this, none of that mattered. At that moment, all that existed was the violent force of the waves relentlessly body-slamming me. Saltwater crawled into my lungs, and I felt the terrifying, absolute finality of no longer being able to draw breath.
I stayed pinned to the bed, staring at the ceiling for an unknowable duration. Though I had only just woken, the sheer exhaustion of it all lulled me into a deep, heavy slumber again.
The following morning, the sun reappeared, and its light brought with it a soothing calm. The world seemed instantly cleansed, radiating a little more hope than the day before. The gentle promise of a clean slate, a true fresh start, was the quietest form of encouragement.
It became clear that the rest my body craved was only half the equation; my mind, too, desperately needed that deep reprieve.
And yes, there will be times that even when the sun rises, the shadow of dread will follow, or moments where I no longer feel like dancing. Yet, I take immense comfort in the truth that I can still encounter flickers of hope. Moments of positivity, glimpses of light, and the simple ability to draw a full breath.
Note: This piece was inspired by Clara Benin’s I Rose Up Slowly, particularly these lines:
“Wondering if there’s more than
All the misery I’m feeling
I know it’s darkest before the dawn
But how long till I see the sun”
There are days when the world appears far darker than it truly is. Yet, time has a way of proving that no night lasts forever. One day, you may look back and find that you endured not because the darkness vanished, but because you quietly rose above it. ♡
i loved the imagery you used here, especially, the shore being a forgotten myth. so strong. such a beautiful read 🤍
excellent read, you describe bodily sensations well, the emotional imagery is outstanding in this piece. excellent, seriously.