Brie Nicole Inked

Breathe. Just breathe. As if it were that simple. Explain to me how one draws breath when every second is stained crimson, when existence itself feels foreign—adrift, untethered, never belonging. Never enough. Never truly wanted. How does one inhale when survival itself is a daily battle, relentless and unforgiving? How do you summon air when each gasp drains the last reserves of strength, when “just breathe” becomes a phrase as hollow as it is cruel? They dismiss my struggle, say it’s not that hard, but it is. It always has been. My life has always teetered between fight and flight, tiptoeing over shards just to escape the hurt carved by hands meant for shelter. Still, the pain lingers—a relentless ache that empties the soul, strips away the will, dismantles dignity piece by fragile piece. So I retreat, shrouded behind glazed eyes and a hollow smile. Because in that fleeting instant—just that one fragile moment—I can take a breath.