Share a story – Anna

Waking feels like sinking,
like your body is wrapped in fog
thick as a thousand nights without rest.
Every breath is heavy,
every step a negotiation with gravity.

The world keeps spinning outside—
faster, louder—
but you are stuck in slow motion,
trapped in a body that won’t listen,
muscles frayed, energy leaking
like a battery that never fully charges.

On good days, you pretend.
You measure each movement,
hoard energy like it’s gold,
weigh every choice—
shower or walk? call or cancel?
Everything costs more than it should.

And on the worst days,
your bed becomes the whole universe,
a prison of stillness where even light is too much.
The world moves on without you,
and you ache for the life you remember,
for the ease that others don’t even notice.

But you keep going,
in this quiet, invisible fight—
pushing through the endless haze,
knowing that tomorrow might be the same,
or worse,
or maybe just enough better
to breathe a little deeper.

And so you wait,
in the silence of your own skin,
for a body that might one day
remember what it’s like
to feel free.

By Anna