As soon as I wake up I look at the mat I laid out the night before. My mind says, “Rest today. You’ve been doing that everyday without fail. Everyday, for the past three months! You deserve a break.” But everyday it’s the same.
My body leads me to the mat, I look at the big-face watch laid in the corner, and start my routine. The planks, the leg raises, the crunches, everything that takes an hour and a half in all. Everyday, for the past three months. No rest day, no excuses.
I’m afraid to stop. I’m still afraid that if I do, I’d slip back to my deep, dark days of isolating myself from the world. Not wanting to talk to anyone, not wanting to do anything, of falling, falling, falling. And until I’m sure of myself, this I do will stay automatic.
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