15:19. Listening to Stray Kids’s Mixtape #1.
It feels burning not like I need an air conditioner or a fan. It feels burning not like I need a can of cold soda or the soothing sensation of ice cubes. It feels burning like I am frozen. The cold burns me. My joints hurt. My shoulders feel heavy. My whole body aches. Like I need to move but stretching only aggravates the pain more.
Once a month I would feel like this. Usually it lasts for around a week. Sometimes almost two weeks. It feels like holding my breath, waiting for the month to turn, for the days to pass by faster. But being breathless is of course not a comfortable state. I would try to breathe deeper, slower, even though I know that most of the time trying to do that only worsen my anxiety. Feeling irritated. Exhausted. Pretending to be okay through it all because I don’t know how to explain what I feel. It will come again and again. Sometimes it’s not that bad and I would be able to bounce back pretty quickly. Sometimes it makes my head feels so dizzy that I want to drop everything. Sometimes the pain hurts so much that I feel like I have only two choices: to shut down my emotions or to lash out. But of course it’s untrue. There is always a third choice: to let the emotions wash over me, dripping through my fingertips–into words, into music, into art.
But sometimes my fingers lose its feel and I am too afraid I am going to drown under the overwhelming emotions.
How hard is it to breathe, you’d ask?
Surely not as hard as being unable to breathe, I’d answer.