The Sound of Forever

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Keane

Day Three

Journaling isn’t catharsis. It’s cruelty.

It’s remembering.

Remembering the nightmares that hit like gut punches, dragging memories I’d rather leave buried in the darkness of my heart. Remembering the therapy session where every nerve in my body screamed to get the fuck out, where I wanted to bolt, flip everyone off, and tell the world to go to hell.

But here’s the thing—the therapists have the upper hand. I can’t run. Not like I used to. Standing up feels like climbing a mountain, and walking away? Forget it. By the time I’ve even thought about moving, the counselor in turn has already thrown logic in my face.

“Stop, think, act,” the therapist says, like it’s that simple. Like it’s that simple. Like stopping my mind from spiraling is as easy as flipping a switch.

But maybe they’re onto something. Or maybe they just have more patience than I do. Either way, I’m stuck here, forced to slow down when all I want is to move—move past this, past the pain, past the endless reminders of how far I’ve fallen.

But maybe slowing down is the point. Maybe it's the only way to figure out where I go from here.