In the quiet of the house, the only sounds I hear are the clocks ticking. One clock is in the living room, the other in the kitchen. They tick almost opposite of each other but not quite. I never notice them except when the house is silent, but they still continue their conversation night after night and day after day.
In the quiet of the house, I can’t help but still have it on my mind. It’s been several days, but I still feel restless. I still feel like something is wrong or missing. Ignoring it and moving on doesn’t work for me, but I fear removing the patchwork that was silently put there. I anxiously wait for it to happen again and fear that each time will be worse than the time before.
In the quiet of the house, I contemplate the demons and how easily they slither into my thoughts when I’m not paying attention. They take over and tell me that I’m a failure, that I will never get better and will forever be imprisoned by my weight. When they visit, they bring me down with them, and I believe them. I believe their lies, therefore I act accordingly. Sleeping and snacking becomes the norm and the only activities I enjoy. I’ve been here many, many times.
In the quiet of the house, I look forward to the future despite my woes and worries. I know that it does get better, and that life needs the bad times so that the good times are much more appreciated. I go through life’s ups and downs and keep pressing on. Just for today.
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