Posted by : Kai | April 25, 2014
Each breath I take burns. It’s hard to start, then as I try harder, it roars into me, my throat burning. It pushes back the queasy feeling, if only for a few seconds. I can feel every muscle, stretched taut over my ribs, limiting each breath.
I can’t breathe. I just can’t. But then, I can and it loosens a little bit. Just enough to take that breath.
I’m sucking each breath in as if it’s in a little straw, greedily taking each greasy-feeling morsel as if it were my lifeline.
What am I saying, it is my lifeline.
I can’t tell you where it all started. Honestly, it’s been one of those weeks. I thought I had the flu. We all thought we had the flu. The last thing I said to my boyfriend was to grow up, I was feeling ill too – I don’t know if he’s better. I don’t know if I’ll get better. All I can do is stare at the ceiling, ignoring the pain of the shattered mug under me, it’s edges cutting and digging into me like irregular, ill-positioned barbs.
I’d laugh right now, reading that back, but when I laugh, when I sneeze. When I cough too hard or move my head at the wrong angle (all of them) then it hurts, I can’t breathe.
I don’t know where it started. I can’t tell you where it’ll end.
I can’t breathe. Every breath I take burns.