3:01am, Mountain Time

[CN: imagery of difficulty breathing; grief and loss]

I wake with a startle and notice it is here. The shadow looms over me, watching. Waiting. I plead with the whites of its eyes to leave me be; to find me on a different night. Or never again. It ignores my bargaining. Instead, the shadow moves to dive down, down, down – deep into my torso. It seeps throughout my chest, spreading like inky oil and covering every inch of my airways until the inhalation stills. My exhale stalls. I cannot breathe. I throw off the blankets as I tear at my chest and grab my throat. I collapse to the floor, feet twisted in bedsheet. The air will not come and the shadow will not let go. My digits go tingly and begin to curl inward into blanched claws. My panicked movements ease. Only a twitch here and there remains. Collapsed on my side I face the blank, green wall of my bedroom. We picked the color together last year. I can hear the echoes of our laughter as we painted. The murmurs of our future-planning. Smell of paint fumes. Rhythms of the rollers skating Ws on the walls. Firm press of your lips. My teeth grazing against them as I break into a smile. I bask in it and let myself drift. When my consciousness begins fuzzing, the shadow finally releases me. It leaps from my chest and hangs for a moment before dissipating. I gasp in relief as my lungs suck fresh air. My chest heaves, body stings, oxygen floods limbs. A minute passes and my breathing slows. I relax, briefly – and then the waves come. A low groan slips past my lips as I begin to shake with sobs. I reach for the green wall, place my palm firm against it, spread my fingers wide, and reach for what is no longer here. I beg for things to be different. Please, let me wake up from this. When I am emptied I crawl back into our bed. I pull the covers across my spent body and sink into the king-sized mattress. I curl up, alone – a tiny ball of pain in the middle of an ocean of grief. I pray for it to take me next time. To bring me to wherever you are.