Sleepless Nights

Seeing him again after all these months remind me of the countless nights I would wake up in the stifling darkness of the bedroom, hyperventilating, with a deep, desperate urge to fill my emotional hollowness, to purge the toxins that were lining the walls of that emptiness. I would start up, carefully turn the door knob and walk to the living room, sit on the dark brown leather sofa in the middle of the expanse of the room and look into space. After a while, I would slowly break out in desperate sobs, trying to catch each breath and trying to stay as quiet as possible so that I don’t wake him. Because surely, he would say I was bringing depression upon myself, that I was incapable of being happy, that I was somehow at fault for not being able to sleep at night.
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