Some days I can’t find the words to tell you all the ways I am barely breathing.
Some days I don’t have words to explain the panic attack that forced me to remain indoors and to shut out the world for it was the only option I had to regain my breath and remember how to breathe and to breathe and to breathe again.
Some days I cannot explain how a scene on television rendered me shaking and frozen; entertaining the shadows of my past like they’d found the map to my skin, drowning me through each and every pour as I fight and I fight and I fight to stay afloat.
Some days there is nothing I can say to give significance to the terror of the night and the dreams that felt like they suffocated me whole as I tried to break myself down to smaller, more palatable pieces that fought to find a gap for my inhale to seep through or to give my body exhale that feels like distant memory against the nightmares that hold.
Some days there are no words for the longing I feel deep in my core, the ache that tugs at my gut and pulls me into despair and disengage and disregard.
Some days I cannot tell you all the ways I am screaming for home, crying out for a something or a someone or a somewhere to belong in this body, in this mind, in this heart that keeps demanding and battling for anything that might just hold me home.
And other days these words are the only thing I have to tell you how I’m still here, alive and barely breathing.