4-7-8

Duncan's mom : We are a part of the whole and everything in the whole transforms all the time. It changes form. Transfigures.

Duncan : You're a special case.

Duncan's mom : That's 'cause I'm your mama.

Duncan : No! No, I know there's... I know, but come on. There's no way to stop the heartbreak? How do you...What do you do about that?

Duncan's mom : You cry...you cry.

My relationship with my breath is very complicated. The second most complicated relationship in my life. First being with my own self, of course.

Something I read recently- “When you’re healthy, you have a lot of things to take care of. When you fall sick, everything is only about your sickness.” I did a horrible job paraphrasing it. I don’t even remember who said this.

Here's a story : It was some time in 2020 that I was on a trip to the mountains with a bunch of friends

(2 friends) celebrating Christmas. One of those mornings, in the midst of the frolic, I started to cry. The banality of the morning made this embarrassing and very difficult to explain. I couldn’t breathe. There was no known trigger. I was crying. This was around 10 in the morning. I cried till 12. Then till lunch. With a cup of tea in my hand at around 5. And then while heading back to the hotel, at around 8. I cried for 10 hours straight. I remember the day so clearly. As if my life had ended; I felt like I was going to die. My eyes were exhausted. My heart was exhausted. My body - exhausted. My friends, kind people, didn’t dismiss this strange release. Release? I don’t even know. All I remember is that I felt empty. Before the crying. And after, of course. 5 days later, I was diagnosed with clinical depression (among others). You might be surprised to hear this - but I felt happy after the diagnosis. Relieved, rather. I knew what was happening. I finally knew what was happening. For the first time in all those years, I could name this bluebird in my heart. 6 months before my diagnosis, I remember saying this to a friend -

“I don’t feel happy”.

“It’s okay, we all don’t sometimes.”, she said.

“No. This is different. I am a happy person. You would know?”, I said.

“Yeah. You are. You make me laugh a lot.”

What changed after the diagnosis was not just my reality, but also my breathing. Moods, nervous systems, and actions are all determined by our breath - literally, it is life or death.

Shallow.

My breathing becomes shallow when I am anxious. It controls me. It dictates everything I feel from that moment on till it dissipates - when it dissipates. Obscure. Doubly obscure.

Heavy. Hyperventilation.

Heavy breathing when I’m trying to stay calm. Pretty counterproductive.

Dichotomy.

Dichotomy in breathing? Yes.

Sometimes, on very rare occasions, I have control. I get to decide how I breathe. And in such moments of complete (partial) control, I forget how to breathe. It turns into a race against time. Will I be able to pull in the next breath? Is this my last? What does inhale mean? Is this a new device? A metaphor? What's this noise? What's that song? Is somebody on the door?

I treat my breathing like a cat sometimes. "It’s okay. Let the creature come to you." Let it come to you on its own.

I have spent a large part of my life trying to control it. Another large part trying to let go. And among all of this, I’m trying to figure out why.

Why anger, Kriti?

Why are you so angry?

Why are you so sad?

Why couldn’t you just be happier?

Why can’t you just try harder?

Why can’t you keep it together?

Why are you crying?

Why can’t you breathe?

Why are you making this difficult for everyone around?

Why can’t you just breathe?