When “f” Eats, It Spells Feat
~ ~ When battling depression, the smallest things are quite a challenging feat to accomplish
I can hardly breathe. The sadness in my throat is as tight as a rope that has been tied in a dozens knots. The muscles in my face attempt to move, but they are as a stagnant pond. I try to swallow but I just feel exhausted. Putting my feet on the floor, feels like an impossible feat. This is not how I was supposed to be as an adult at all. I was supposed to grow up and be confident, energetic and happy, not depressed.
About the Creator
Rowan Finley
Father. Academic Advisor. Musician. Writer. My real name is Jesse Balogh.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insight
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Keep reading
More stories from Rowan Finley and writers in Poets and other communities.
'Till Death We Do Art
There would be nothing divine in this world without art. Nature may surpass the divine to all intents and purposes, but like everything it absorbs and is absorbed by, it remains here, stuck on the surface of this world, ever-present, physically bound to the universe.
By Avocado Nunzella BSc (Psych) -- M.A.P a day ago in Art
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.