▣ WHAT'S WRONG

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I guess I was wrong. 

I do know what it feels like, to struggle to breathe.

To choke on oxygen.

To feel like a serrated blade is wedged between my ribs.

With every pulse of my heart, I can feel it. 


So, I guess I was wrong.

I just forgot.

Or, maybe I've been deluding myself.

Trying to put on a happy face.

I've never tried so hard to force myself to breathe.


When people ask me what's wrong,

I don't know what to say anymore.


"How's it going?"

The pause echoes, where acquaintances breath out a grinning 'Fine, you?'

The silence is filled with my jagged breath; it tastes of blood.

They falter for a moment in their steps as they walk past, realising the silence. Noticing the lack of words. I choke and sputter a breathless response:

"It's going."


Please, stop asking what's wrong.

I can't tell you.

Nothing's wrong. I'm okay.

I'm healthier than I've been in a while, physically.

I'm doing better in college than I have in a while, academically.


What can I say?

"I can't breathe?"

"I can't sleep?"

"I can feel my heart, heavy in my chest like twenty-pound weight, tossing around with every step I take?"

"Every time I eat, I die a little inside, because this resurfacing anorexia gives me a feeling of control over my ocean-wrecked consciousness and a sickening self-harming satisfaction?"



Or, maybe most of all, how little I feel.

I used to think heights were my biggest fear.

My mind terrifies me.


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