I sit cross-legged on my bathroom floor. The white tile sticks to my bare legs.
I see my face in the mirror and I don't like it.
The harsh fluorescent light pulses down on me.
*I'm not okay*
*I'm not okay*
*I'm not okay*
The room before me fades into shades of blue, saturating the floors and walls and the porcelain toilet indigo and cerulean and navy and prussian.
My sadness is contagious, echoing through the bathroom door to the bare, empty hallway.
The bare, empty hallway.
The empty hallway.
Empty.
[[I'm empty.->Stage 2: Fatigue]]I stare at the ceiling from my bed.
*Sinking.*
The shades of blue are fading, becoming less vibrant. The walls and furniture fade away from the vibrant blue.
I stare at the ceiling, unable to move. My arms are too heavy, my legs are too slow.
My phone vibrates on the bed next to me. It's Mom.
I will call her back later.
[[I'm too tired to talk.->Stage 3: Isolation]]
I pour myself some water from the tap. The walls and cupboards and kitchen tile are being frosted over with a slate of grey.
My hair is knotted. I need to shower.
The floors lose all saturation, my skin becoming grey, too.
The dishes in the sink balance on one another like a game of jenga.
My take-out food sits on the floor from last night, and the night before, and the night before, and the night before,
and the night before,
and the night before,
and the night before,
and the night before.
My phone vibrates on the counter. It's Mom. Again.
*37 missed calls*
*43 text messages*
[[Shit.->Stage 4: Guilt]]
I rot in my chair in the corner.
I'm selfish.
I'm rude.
I'm a horrible friend, a nasty daughter, an awful partner.
I have no excuse.
The grey-crusted room melts away to reveal a brownish-green hue. It spreads throughout the apartment, covering my walls, my countertops, my socks, my skin, my hair, Grandma's antique lamp.
I feel the weight of every wrong decision I've ever made concentrated into one tight ball in my chest.
It sits there and consumes me.
Maybe I'd be better off...
[[somewhere else.->Stage 1: Sadness]]