The Impossibility of the Possible

I want to be productive today. It's been a while since I last held a book in my hand with a determination to finish it in one day. Yet, completing an easy task has become a burden. Watching a film, reading a book, lately, have become unbelievably difficult. Unlike last year, I have a job now that drags me out of bed. But nothing much has changed. I've just become worse. Though now, I am so much better in hiding it.

~

To this day, I still wonder if what I felt that night was a panic attack. It's been a year.

I used to have an asthma when I was a baby. I started smoking in 2014. My coffee intake has continued to surpass over the years. I thought difficulty in breathing was an inevitable result of the futile life I've been living. But that night was unfamiliar. I actually made an effort to help myself. Cutting back my caffeine consumption. Quitting cigarettes for a day or two. The breathing, however, failed to normalize. On the fifth day, I almost thought I was going to die. There was an unbearable pain in my chest I had not felt before. Like a ton of cement was blocking the air passage to my lungs. It's hard to put into words. I went straight to my room the moment I realized I could not recover from the unusual scenario. I sat on my bed taking deep breaths after deep breaths in the hopes of gaining control. I knew crying would instantly turn the mattress I was sitting on into a death bed. Years of constantly living with the thought of suicide, yet on the verge of feeling like dying, my thought was, 'I don't want to die.' Minutes of grasping for air felt like forever. Despite my refusal, I started to accept death. It was not a bad way to go. I recalled all the times I wished I would leave. Surprisingly, it calmed me. The pain was still there. But the soothing thought put me to sleep. I woke up, 'I'm alive'.

~

I fool myself into thinking I have plans. Sometimes, I dream of being able to do all the things I have in mind. Visit all the places I read about. Learn these new things I see on TV. But these ideas and my body do not always go hand in hand. One refuses to cooperate with the other. I cannot focus. Distraction seems to follow me around all the time. Sleeping, still and always is, a dream and a nightmare. When I wake up with a tiny bit of hope, I feel like I am on my way to having better days. But it's a sham.

~

It happened again in April. It felt different from the first one. But it was equally terrifying. Modesty aside, I handled this one better. It hasn't happened again since. But I'm functional enough to make it disappear.

~

The stronger my grip gets, the more I lose myself in the process. In rapid motion I cannot control, cannot see, cannot feel, I lose a piece of me. Relentlessly. The person I thought I am. The things I used to love. The steady passion I once thought defined me. All slipping away. Slowly losing its meaning. Fingers point to nowhere. Just mentally breaking without recourse, and without reason. An emptiness, a black hole continues to eat my being. I fight the urge not to give in. I ignore it like I do with boys. But it seems to nurture itself on its own. Even with lack of care and attention. With the absence of spirit and enthusiasm, it grows. Killing the person I know. Unfolding this whole other entity I wish to not know.


(c)