I fail to feel the feelings I once had for the air that I breathe. At one point, every breath felt like a sharp, quick stab to the lungs. Every molecule was toxic yet refreshing all at once. I would close my eyes and feel my thoughts fade and miraculously revive into the uncontrollable beasts that they are. I loved to breathe as some like to cut. The rush of pain provided me a feeble filler for the void in my life. However, once the pain resided, I felt this lingering taste of clarity. Unlike when you cut — or at least what I’ve been told about the action — the physical pain fades but the mental anguish soon comes sweeping in like the villain you wish you had never met. Alas, not with my method. No, no, no. The clarity stayed. The adrenaline stayed. Breathing. That’s all it took. Breathing the air around me like a fish gasping for water.
Now, breathing feels like nothing. No pain. No toxins. Nothing to revive the life I’ve had dying inside of me for quite some time. My lungs now scream from a different kind of pain. A pain of weakness. They have no motivation. They feel like they have no reason to be existing.
I have lost my twisted way, my body tells me.
I have lost my twisted, unnatural way.