The days had long ago become so suffocating and boring that just staring at the rock wall felt like I had a hand over my throat.
My senses were dulling and at the same time more sharpened. Dull in the sense that I sometimes forget just how lush the greenery outside used to be, and sharpened in a beast sense where protecting my cubs in my belly seemed more important than my own life.
And then I began to feel depression too. Prenatal depression. At times, I'd wake up in the middle of the night and start crying for no reason.
The irritation towards the smell of salt and cedar wood caused me a lot of discomfort.
It felt so severe that I bit my lip and wished for things I'm not very proud to mention. I wished I could just leave everything and wake up the outcast I used to be in a world of running water, electricity, and all sorts of convenience.
But then I'd curse myself for even thinking about leaving the husbands I claim to care about so much.
