All My Life

Six Days.

Its been six days. You think of six days as nothing, but I remember a time when six days would have felt like truly dying; like all the anxiety attacks I could ever have all at once. It was sleeping just because I couldn't be awake with all the pain. It was doing anything to get my mind off of the agonizing thought that she was dying. There is it again. What if she is dying? This unsettling feeling comes over me as I think about how six days used to feel. Now six days feels more serene than anything I've ever encountered. I'm not hiding under my blankets gasping for breath through my second anxiety attack in the last hour, I am living. I'm not sitting around analyzing every last word she said before these six days; contemplating every little word I could have said differently. It was a era of feeling sorry for myself; an era that was in a desperate need of burning. Now I don't sit in my room sobbing under all the blankets wondering what I did so wrong. With every excuse she used it was always nothing. The strings holding us together finally broke. I cut myself loose, even after her every attempt to keep me on a tight leash.