It’s been a minute since I felt that sharp, physical ache of dread on a Sunday night, the kind that makes your chest feel like a clenched fist. Honestly, it’s mostly gone now, which is… wild to even say out loud. The FEAR was a living thing in my gut for SO long, not just a feeling. It felt like a physical weight, pressing down on my lungs, suffocating me, and the fact that it's… not there anymore, that I can BREATHE deeply on a Sunday night, sometimes I still catch myself waiting for the shoe to drop. It’s a quiet miracle, honestly, one I never thought would happen. The phantom ache is real; sometimes, even though the dread itself is gone, a ghost of it will tighten my shoulders, a quick, sharp reminder of just how deeply it used to reside within my bones. It's like my body remembers the trauma even when my mind has moved on, a strange, residual tremor of a past earthquake, but then it passes, and I realize, with a quiet, HUMBLING shock, that I am actually, truly, SAFE now.