It's Like I Can't Breathe

Sometimes I hold my breath because it makes me feel more in control.
Over a year has passed since I've started trying to learn to breath correctly.
But I'm gasping for air right now.
I feel like I can't even breathe. I'm overwhelmed by the smallest tasks including swinging my feet out of bed every morning.

Right now it's like every ounce of my strength is being used to just remember to breathe in and out and keep moving my feet one in front of the other.
So I'm sorry that I can't explain what happened to you, I'm sorry that you're upset and that you're hurt but there isn't really anything I can do about it now.
Because I'm busy just trying to breathe.

I have to remind myself to blink.
I have to remind myself to move.
I have to remind myself that this pit isn't the only thing in the world and that there is good and hope and peace somewhere outside the rim of this hole.

But first I have to remember to inhale. To exhale. To inhale.
I have to remember to keep the breaths steady so I don't burst into tears at odd moments.
Breathe in and out, but not to quickly.

I ache. Every piece of me aches with this hurt and I still don't know how to process it or make it better for you.
Because I don't even want to make it better for me. I could live in this pit, I've done it before.
I want things to stop being awkward between us and I want you to stop being pissed at my inability to just be my "normal perky self"

But I can't. The effort is daunting and far more than I'm able to accomplish right now.
So right now I just breathe. Trying to overcome this panic and blackness without inconveniencing anyone to much.