I’m not ready. Not ready to leave the apartment. Not ready to have an interpersonal interaction. Not ready to work. I still feel nothing. It’s a throbbing emptiness all through my chest. Nothing feels real to me. Everything remains a hazy and distant dream. I’m not sure what it even means to say “I exist”.

If there is one thing I want (is it what I want or what I can handle?), it is to spend yet another day in my underwear reading comics and staring out the window. I want the bed. My safe cozy bed. I stare at it longingly. I can’t stop myself from going back to it…