But nothing came to mind. And inside that “nothing” lives something awful: a falling through black, blank space with my insides on fire. I knew I needed distance between myself and my feelings so I could observe, but just being with my feelings was like being possessed. I didn’t need mindfulness; I needed an exorcism. Perhaps a minute passed, maybe five. The possession was in full swing. I don’t think I’m doing this right, whispered a part of me. Another part began a familiar litany: Nothing is working. I can’t stand this. I am so fucked-up. I can’t even sit for one minute without falling
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