The Waiting Room

by Emily Bleeker

For some reason she couldn’t seem to grasp that depression wasn’t something you just snapped out of.

The only thing worse than being crazy was having other people see that you were crazy.

hoping the pain from the heat would take away some of the other pains in her life.

She rarely posted on her profile anymore now that her pictures or posts didn’t match the shiny, beautiful standards of all the other mothers and family members she followed.

the sting of alcohol lessening with every sip, along with the choke of her anxiety.

It was like her house could tell her the time of day just by the sounds it made when a breeze hit its siding or the mild temperature before the sun hit its full arc in the afternoon sky.

Her greatest regrets were found in the spaces between her choices, in the void of inaction that had slowly devoured her life.