Pulse.

It was gone too long, a familiar friend, this familiar feeling. The feeling of dread and loathing that I thought I’d stomped out on the way to leisure and happiness. But it’s always there, deceptively lurking, ready to come out when it’s allowed, when it’s tempted. I feel it’s pulse. It’s steady, stronger now, threatening.

I’ve been better at keeping it at bay. So maybe something has really changed. But the precipice looks closer than it did. I can only hope it’s an illusion. Maybe it’s the weather, or maybe it’s getting caught up in the thick of things, hardly having time to think, or having too much time to think about the wrong things…

But I’m better at keeping it at bay. Keeping the dwelling and obsession to a minimum. Reminding myself what matters, that it can’t get better than this. This is what I’ve wanted. This is what I want.

Still, the dread is there, at the surface, just barely breaching the water, waiting. As the days get shorter, I can feel it approach and recede again. It’s not yet the time to fully take hold. I get nervous about the dark. When the days are short and the dark is long, will I be able to find relief?

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