You know that sinking feeling?

The one where your stomach drops. Where it seems to act on it's own accord. Like you are in zero gravity or going up in an elevator. That is what follows every breath I take. And it hurts. No, it aches. It escalates when I'm alone, when I can't pretend that there isn't an inexplicable hole in my chest. Yet even though I know this, I still find myself staying home alone in the dark. But isn't that the worst part? The dark? Where my brain has room to slowly suffocate me with it's bitter opposition of my well being. Doesn't it know that if I go, it goes with me? Doesn't it know that I recognize it's irrationality? But I still feed it, and it feed me with the ache that rests in the pit of my stomach.