No warning. No reason. Just a pressure that makes the morning feel too sharp to touch.
He drags himself through the day carrying thoughts that do not listen and fears that do not fade. He keeps going anyway because something small and stubborn in him refuses to let the darkness win.
He learns to breathe through the noise. He learns to sit with the pain without letting it decide who he is. He learns that healing is slow and that slow is still progress.
Some days he rises clean. Some days he falls apart. Both are part of the same journey.
And when the night finally settles and the world goes quiet he realises he survived another day and that survival is its own kind of courage.
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