Abstract Agony

He says, “don’t stress, darling.”

“I won’t,” I say

Because I am not stressing.

I inhale

Inhale

Exhale.

Inhale, inhale, inhale, inhale

As my lungs ache for air :

deep breaths, I think to myself .

I inhale, and I exhale .

Deep breaths are too slow to fill my lungs .

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale, inhale, inhale, inhale

Exhale

Inhale, inhale, inhale, inhale …

The cycle continues like wash, rinse, repeat.

For a moment everything slows down .

Time stops, teetering.

I think, I’m going to be okay

But time teeters on the edge of a cliff .

It tilts, it topples, it tumbles .

I’m plummeting .

Flailing, I can’t find the ground.

I’m caught in a whirlwind of oh no’s and what if’s.

I inhale

Inhale, inhale, inhale, inhale

Exhale

Inhale, inhale

STOP.

My head is a feather, my mouth is the desert .

My body pulsates, connected to an electric current .

I reach for water :

My stiffened hands cannot grip the glass, my words incoherent

As I lay still ,

Body restrained by a grimace .

I’ve always feared my mind

But I’ve never been afraid of this carcass .

He says, “don’t stress, darling.”

So, I should be cured now. Isn’t he sweet?

It’s unclear if his words are meant to strike with love or pity

Because his words sound kind but do nothing to slow my rapid heartbeat ;

Because his words don’t bring oxygen to my lungs ;

Because his words don’t plant my feet steadily on this precipice .

They only remind me of the agony

Of existing in a society that makes light of my illness .

His words cause every doubt to resurface .

His words insist my malaise is minimal .

His words are unable to bring me solace .

I internalize a stigma designed to belittle .

Am I exaggerating?

Inhale

Is this all in my head?

Inhale

Could I end my suffering?

Inhale

Do I even want to?

Inhale

Do I make myself hurt on purpose?

Inhale

Am I faking?

Inhale

Do I romanticize my own illness?

Inhale

I want to shrink

And shrink

And shrink

Disappear.

I inhale

Inhale, inhale, inhale, inhale

Exhale.