countdown

Forty five days. Forty five days is all I have to endure without going crazy. A month and a half. A month and a half enduring the same daily tortures, the same constant screaming. Anxiety is consuming me, but I haven't let myself get carried away any more than usual. Incessant mockery. I breathe. A sudden surge of heat rises in me and I begin to shed tears that come out without asking permission. Some don't give way to the others, they fight to see which one will fall first. I don't stop them, I allow them to flow. I breathe again. I don't feel anything. Only a mixture of mild rage, because I have no more strength left, with resentment, hostility, and rancor. Hate is the only thing that comes to mind. But I'm so tired of fighting in vain that it stays there, in my mind, eating away at me.