3.22.18 – Choked
We didn’t always learn by scraping knees, tenacity was a virtue imbued in youth and fostered by those that didn’t have the strength to carry on but used what was left to hold us up so we could. Hard breath was a difficult trigger to ease the finger back on and I remember being young and suffocating on dry land with a bit of confusion and anxiety. Those moments were made longer with the uncertainty that air could sustain me. I’d fill my head when my lungs wouldn’t do and make those seconds move with will and wishes that this might be the last time I’d forget how to breathe.
Attacks had left, but there’s still heat in my chest and a hard wall to push past if I want to ignore it. I didn’t see it as a precursor to death but there’s a need not being sated by a body too stubborn to find patience. I’m working with those ailments in ways I imagine the truly pained do and seeking a sort of training to keep them going alongside particularly irritable symptoms. I’ve played the slug before and wormed my way through a hot house looking for mere survival and probably it was needed but those lessons don’t always stick even when they come with hard scars and sour memories.
We weren’t risking limbs and life but at times it probably felt that way. I saw the same conclusions, crossing the street or even driving the car, that there was danger inherent and some bumps meted out to poor choices and others to poor timing. We didn’t always have a hand in our own fragility as sometimes the damage was done in the way the world caught us when we fell and not the tumbling we did beforehand. I’m still waiting for the wind to return to me and for my heart to catch back up with the pace we’re trying to live at.