1. I can’t breathe. Whenever my lungs try to grasp the oxygen right in front of me my heart just tells me that I don’t deserve it. That I don’t deserve anything.
2. I can’t speak. Every time words threaten to spill out of my lips, I hesitate. And in that hesitation I find all that is wrong. My flaws. Imperfections. Defects. Cracks. Scars. Me. I find my fucked-up self and I can’t let people hear that part of me. I just can’t risk it.
3. I can’t see. I don’t see what I want to see whenever I find a mirror. Instead I see what people want me to see and that’s the worst in me. I live in fear of the reflective because fear of my own reflection is at least the tiniest bit better than fear of my own self. I have at least the tiniest percentage of peace. But it can’t last. And I’m scared of the day when it will run out.
4. I can’t think. The thoughts in my head don’t even belong to me anymore. They aren’t from my soul and they don’t belong in my mind. Yet they’re trapped in my skull as if chains are holding them back from peace. I feel sorry for them until I realise that maybe they’re not trapped. Maybe they’ve decided to stay and take whatever there is left of my sanity. Well, if I had any in the first place.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t speak.
I can’t see.
I can’t think.
I can’t live.