Breathing Room

It’s finally time, time to stand aside and admire what you’ve achieved, time to breathe. Or that’s what’s supposed to be, but something’s watching, there’s a presence that won’t allow it, a masked figure born out of every hour spent of work, every feeling of inadequacy and every struggle left unresolved. It’s not real but it feels real.
Guilt and fear given shape, a gas room operator monitoring the smallest attempt to exhale, to relax. Rest has become something to survive rather than enjoy, breathing itself rationed by a mind that has learned relaxation is dangerous. A room named for what is withholds. There’s now space to breathe but something inside refuses to let it happen.