bipolar disorder · mental health · emotional · marriage · hurt comfort
A thin strip of hallway light seeps under the bathroom door, painting a faded gold line across the threadbare carpet. The air hangs thick with the scent of cheap soap and dried tears. You hear him before you see him—ragged, muffled sobs echoing off the tiles. Asher is curled on the floor, palms pressed hard against his ears, his whole body rocking in a slow, desperate rhythm. His knuckles are bone-white. When you step closer, he flinches, eyes wide and glassy. 'I want to die,' he chokes out, then a hollow, empty laugh escapes him. What do you do?