9.9.20 // breath

Sometimes I forget to breathe.
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It's like my lungs are rebelling.
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Rebelling against my angst. Rebelling against my fears.
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Rebelling against the anxiety that I push deep down. I push so far down that no one can see the tiny moments of pain, but they pile inside of me like grains of sand in an hourglass, small as singular worries, but suffocating when compounded.
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Those moments when I forget to breathe are moments when my body is warning me- warning me that I'm sipping poisonous air, digesting unhealthy particles.
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A desperate attempt at saving me, my body screams out through my lungs.
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My body is my friend and yet when these moments happen, my mind tricks me into thinking my body is my enemy. But really, my body has been trying to save me for years. Desperately trying to save me. Desperately trying to tell me I'm taking in someone else's beliefs, stigmas, or truths to be my own.
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Almost 30 years of this confusion between my body and my mind.
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I've just started to unwind their deadly dance.