...sarah... sarah...
Blaring lights scream into hollowed eyes reflecting wind.
it wasn’t my fault, it wasn't my fault,
it wasntmyfaultitwasnt
I breathe…
My ribs exhale as my right hand moves to rub my thigh.
I inhale… it’s happening again.
I exhale and look around the room.
My chest feels like—
I inhale…
“Sarah…”
A voice finds me, pulling me out of a dream I didn’t want to return to.
My right hand keeps moving.
I notice the plant on the edge of the dresser.
The TV is on, showing a scene I meant to watch,
passing me by inside the chaos.
I breathe.
“Huh?”
“Yeah… I’m okay.”
I exhale.
My pulse softens.
Relief settles in my ribs.
I realize I’m thirsty.
— blue evergarden
A note from me:
Before disability, I worked in a Crisis Warm Room through my former de-escalation agency —
not as an expert or clinician,
but as someone who sat with people in their storms
and practiced the same grounding I needed myself.
This piece isn’t advice.
It’s just a moment I lived,
a breath that brought me back,
a return I’m grateful for.
If it resonates,
I hope a breath finds you to return more quickly.
chocolate helps sweeten me back to myself after the tired.