One day you're in, the next day...

... you're out.

I woke up this morning to that familiar asphyxiating voice, taunting with the alarm, "You can't do this, you can't do this, you can't do this..." Trying to ground myself, I closed my eyes and reached out with my other senses.

I listened; rain almost deftly flicked the windows. I felt; gravity wrapped its arms around me and pulled my body into the softness of my bed. I smelled; vanilla and lavender crept, whirled and massaged the air around my nostrils. I tasted; I should have brushed after my late night snack.

I felt; my gentle sheets caressed the cold bareness of my back as I pulled the covers over me. I listened; the alarm again taunted, "You can't do this, you can't do this, you can't do this..."

"I can't do what?"

"Life."

"I'm doing just fine, great even. Look how productive I was yesterday. The ticket and poster designs are fabulous, the databases are coming along well. Things are great."

"It's not worth it. You can't do this. It's all going to go to crap."

"What's going on? Did I miss my meds?"

"You're worthless. Alone. Look around you. Nobody. You can't do this."

Ten more minutes and I had to be heading to the studio for my first class of the day. I traced my breaths in and out of my lungs. I focused on each nose hair, feeling, imagining them sway. Lavender and vanilla clouded around me, trying to push away the smoggy thoughts. Gravity worriedly hugged me closer into the safety of my bed. My sheets nuzzled me with concern. Five more minutes.

Trembling, though not visibly, I got out of bed, letting the cold hardness of the wood floors drown out the "... you're alone, nobody's on your side... worthless, alone, worthless, alone..." thoughts. My neighbor's clanking masked the "... you can't do this, you can't do this, you can't do this..." thoughts.

And for the rest of the day, I would and will have to live in the immediate present, no past, no future, just smells and feels and hears and sees and tastes.