There were moments I felt like I was losing my breath—literally.
Not because of panic or fear. It just happened. No warning. No trigger.
And in those moments, my thoughts narrowed into a single instinct:
One more breath. Slowly. Deeply. Focus. Keep your mind stronger than your body. Just breathe.
Each time it passed, I was left with the same realization:
This could be it. No going back. No fighting. Just the end of existing.
And so I always ask myself:
Have I done enough?
Do I have regrets?
Oddly enough, the closer I feel to death, the more alive I feel.
Not because I fear it, but because I’ve chased peace, happiness, and freedom for so long—and at 28, I think I’ve finally found them.
Not through someone else.
But through my own decisions.
I’ve always prayed that whatever I choose may be good for everyone.
And for the most part, it has been. It’s always made life easier—for everyone but me. I used to put my heart first, even when people said:
“Mind before heart. Judgment before emotion.”
But on the day I turned 28, for the first time, I listened to both.
My mind said:
“This happened before. It’s happening again.”
My heart said:
“You gave it a chance. And still, here you are.”
For once, they weren’t at war.
They were screaming the same truth.
They were in sync.
And you know what’s strange?
It was a painful decision—but I never questioned it.
It felt right.
Like cutting a thick rope I had been tangled in my whole life.
The cut was deep. It knocked me to the ground.
But when I stood back up—still bruised, still tied—I could walk. I could run.
On my own.
All this eagerness to break free wasn’t just about survival.
It was about preserving my life—my breath, my self.
And for the first time, it wasn’t just my heart or mind deciding.
It was all of me—body, soul, instinct—finally aligned.
- Breathless, But Finally Alive - July 31, 2025
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