A feeling like all the surfaces inside you have been rubbed raw

It starts in the morning as soon as you wake up. You see the sun through the curtains, it’s a beautiful day maybe, it doesn’t matter. You turn over to see if you can sleep some more but it’s already too late for that. The day is upon you. You want to hide, to curl up in a ball, but that’s not what you really want either. After all. It doesn’t stop your mind, does it? It doesn’t stop the ache. It’s not an escape. The whole day in front of you. How will you bear it. You want to escape, but there’s no place you can go where it won’t be with you.

The Dogs of Babel, Carolyn Parkhurst