1, 2...
I play that game where you see how long you can hold your breath, except I can’t stop. It’s become habitual, almost compulsive. In the final seconds, I can almost feel my eyes roll back and my chest burn. When I sleep, I have funny dreams about being friends with people who left me. I want to psychoanalyse this, dissect it, break it down, take it apart but all that would lead to is an answer that I already know. I dream of all those I’ve hurt. At least I can breathe freely then.
17, 18...
I wonder how many others do this, I can’t be the only one. I watch people on the street to try and catch them out. But then I see them laugh. No, I can’t laugh. I see them jog. I can’t do that either. I see them say hi and bye and cry and sigh and I —
28, 29...
I can’t remember when I started, only why I started. It was the only thing I could do to myself to feel right. The only thing I could do to correct a wrong. My wrong. Me. I know how this sounds. I know how I sound. I know that no one would ever understand why I wouldn’t just move on. But I can’t just undo what I did. If I could rewrite the past, do you think I would choose to suffocate myself instead?
43, 44...
It’s all in your head, somebody says when they see me struggle. My eyes burn. If I don’t do this, I’ll forget. I’ll forget my shame, my worthlessness, my flaws.
Someone else comes and takes my face in their hands. Why are you doing this?
Because I must. This is the only way I’ll find peace. I don’t know any better. I’m waiting for someone to release me from this curse. Until she tells me to stop. But she won’t. She walked out years ago. Until he tells me to stop. But he won’t. He gave up on me a lifetime ago.
56, 57…
Breathe, please, a voice in my head says. I can barely hear it. The other thoughts are louder and more demanding. Half-buried memories paralyse me. I see a flash of me arguing with someone. Another flash of me slapping away a conciliatory hand. No. Watching them cry. Stop. Making cruel jokes. Ignoring them. Calling them names. Yelling over them. Don’t think about that. Stop thinking about that. Why can’t I stop? Why can’t I breathe?
73, 74...
I pinch my nose. I can’t let myself off that easy. I was the instigator of so much anger, so much tension and pain. I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on the thrum of blood rushing in my ears. I can still see the images. I was the source of toxicity, and even in the abyss of my mind and imagination, I cannot change the memories to be happier.
89, 90…
This is not helpful, the voice says. Nothing is, I reason, as the beating of my heart blocks out any other sound. It’s terrifying and comforting. I’ll be asleep soon. I clap a hand over my mouth to make sure.
97, 98...
It’s not your fault, the voice insists. But it is my fault. It was my fault. And I’ve played this game too long to stop now.
They’ve moved on, why can’t you?
Because I’m taking responsibility for my own actions. They may have forgiven me, but I was meant to love them and instead I was cruel. It’s the right thing to do.
Is this peace?
The voice is fading again. I hear the echoes of darkness. I see lights burst and streak behind my eyelids. It hurts, it hurts. My face is hot under my hands. Are my lips blue yet I wonder. I want to be blind in my mind so that the past will finally leave me alone. How much more must I endure so that I can forget what a vile person I was?
You don’t have to forget, the voice is gentle and soothing under the violent currents of agony. I’m being crushed by the air outside of my body. I’ve lost count. My lungs are screaming. But you must forgive.
An ugly gasp for air breaks through my pain. I’m still here, I realise, feeling the wetness on my face. I’m lying on the floor of my room but I don’t remember falling. My lungs pump vigorously and I do not have the energy to stop them. I need a moment to think. I need to think.
Before starting again.